Strings entangled
by akane sarumara
Summary: A decision that changed their life... One that no-one else has made yet. EnglandXHungary; story better than summary. Rating: T. Read and review, please:S
1. Chapter 1

Well, this is my first Hetalia fanfic, and practically my first attempt to write anything longer than a comment or e-mail in a foreign language. So, don't be too harsh on me if the characters seem OOC, I get confused with the usage of more complex tenses or if I speak too much from my own country's historical point of view (i. e. Hungary's). Constructive criticism and ideas, on the other hand, are welcome. Italics mean thoughts, all caps or bold stands for shouting.

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Hetalia… I'd have a difficult job not having WWIII in my 12 sqare-meter-big room xdxd it would be awesome, though, meeting them…

**Pairing**: EnglandXHungary, with a past UsXUk and RussiaXAmerica (because I just couldn't resist), AusXHun and probably… (Dare I write it?) One-sided RussiaXHun (on Russia's side). What? Think about it: the awesome used-to-be-pirate and the potty-mouthed, un-ladylike fujoshi tomboy, they DO fit, even if there's nothing special about the diplomatic relations… now. There is a historical basis to this pairing, even if only little. I'll tell about that later.

_**1**_

If anything, a nation's life was always complicated and tiresome, sometimes painful as well. Once a new boss was inaugurated, they usually (it was different in monarchies) had to find a way to fill him/her in, without causing lasting mental damage. It wasn't always easy, convincing a newbie- some tried to take them to an asylum, or even kicked them out of the study. Even if said human believed them, the problems only began, for of course, there's no knowing what kind of a boss this one will make. Not to mention that despite the close contact, nations were only rarely asked for advice or to voice their opinions- their simply were expected to keep their calm and accept, no matter how dangerous or idiotic an idea they were told of.  
This could go on and on, what with the difficult diplomacy, economical treaties and wars. As if sensing every single opinion of your citizens, every single death of a soldier, every bombing wouldn't be confusing and torturing enough! As it seemed, their bosses were oblivious of the fact that even the younger nations were by far older than any human could hope for, thus having far more experience in every sense of the word. They've all seen and felt everything twice or three times at least, and they could tell a stupid or bad order if they saw one- even if they were too weak to defy it.  
Why were they too weak? Because nations simply didn't oppose their bosses, but (as Germany would say) clang on to their pride and went on (and if someone, he and Russia were experts in the field of crazy bosses), or with Austria's words: "Blessed are the ones that can forget, what cannot be changed anymore."

That on mind, it's no wonder Hungary hardly saw her altogether cheery surroundings (the sky a radiant blue, the flowers blooming, people chatting merrily) while getting home from her Parliament on a fairly warm and positively dry, early autumn afternoon. It was about an hour away by car, with the usual rush-hour of the great cities, and she was more than happy when she finally reached her destination, a middle-sized detached house. The neighbours- none of whom knew of Hungary's actual identity- assumed she grew up in the countryside, since her little flower-garden, porch and trees were neat and well arranged. As much of a tomboy she could be at times, and as much as she still enjoyed shooting (photographs, bows or guns, it didn't matter) and riding beyond everything, Elizaveta (or to Feliks and her citizens, Erzsi) felt the need of having a proper-looking garden and a place she can calmly sit at, and even be proud of. Oh yes, she could never forget the scene Turkey and Holland made when accidentally they complimented her tulips in unison, claiming it was their flower…  
All right, she had to admit: she got to like gardening so much after she saw the tulips and especially roses at Turkey's "weekend house" in Budapest. Sadiq seemed to love flowers, as well as bath-houses, which seemed strange if you considered his fight-liking and sometimes violent nature- and Hungary knew Bulgaria thought the same. However, they both ended up being fascinated by gardening- Hungary preferring tulips and geraniums (among other ones), Bulgaria specializing in roses and gaining great reputation with them.

But that's not important now. Hungary went into the house, hung her jacket on a peg, then made some meal- and just when she was about to begin it, her cell phone rang. Judging by the ringtone being "Land der Berge, Land am Strome", it was her ex-husband and neighbor, Austria. Frowning, she wondered a bit, why would Roderich call (since they talked only the day before), but she answered quickly nonetheless.  
'Hallo, Roderich. 'she greeted him in German.  
'Hallo, Elisabeth. 'said nation suppressed a sigh: Roderich was the only one who called him Elisabeth, and this name reminded her of empress Sissi, whom she was quite in friendly terms with- Greece, Italy and Russia stuck to Eli, Eliza or Elizaveta, Feliks preferring Erzsi, Turkey stubbornly keeping Tulip and the rest of the nations using her country name, as was always done with distant acquaintances.  
'About that meeting in London…'  
'What meeting?' she asked back, getting an ominous feeling that she forgot something essential.  
'The UN-Meeting tomorrow at 9… and before you ask it, according to Greenwich-time.'  
Hungary was fairly sure that Roderich heard her palm colliding with her forehead then muttering some "well-chosen" swearwords in Hungarian. How the hell could she have forgotten that, when Germany told them the date and place of the next meeting at least a hundred times before they left Berlin! Thank Heavens she didn't have a project to make for this session.  
'So, what about this meeting?' she finally asked, trying to calm her voice. It wasn't Austria's fault she forgot it, after all…  
'I'm terribly sorry, but I just can't go. You see, I was already packed this afternoon when my boss called and he made me swear I'd talk to him tomorrow at 10.'  
Hungary sighed, knowing there was no such thing as a boss-defying nation, especially not the tradition-liking Austria. Great, now he'll be on his own, in Vienna. If he was preoccupied with his thoughts, Roderich Edelstein could get lost in a wardrobe, for crying out loud! Every time they went shopping, Elizaveta made extra sure she connected their fingers with a ribbon or a yarn.  
'Ok, I'll tell the others. But you could've simply called England…'  
'No, I couldn't have. I'm quite certain he's shouting at America or France on the phone at the moment, or he just hung up on them, and I didn't want to deal with him when he's angry or drunk. Italy and Prussia are sure to keep Germany occupied, before you ask, and you know how he's always nervous about deadlines, plans and agendas.'  
'I thought you'd understand him, you're quite stubborn with traditions as well… 'Hungary chimed in, trying to sound normal. Nearly a century passed since they divorced- it was a weird thing, since the Monarchy practically didn't exist by the time the treaties had made the thing legal-, and they were strictly separated for decades, but Austria still seemed as if he could read her thoughts, giving Hungary weird feelings and a knot in the stomach.  
'That's different. I might be conservative, and they say at my place, they wouldn't realize the apocalypse for twenty years, but did you ever see me working hard for months as he does, or adapting a strict, military-like lifestyle as Prussia used to before he was dissolved? Never.'  
'Well, I would be more than worried if you did.' Elizaveta admitted with a giggle. 'Anything else you wanted to say? Because I should begin to pack quickly.'  
'No, nothing. Thanks for telling them, and have a safe trip. Bye.'

Hungary said "Bye" as well, then tried to keep her composure and not panic. She failed epically, because as soon as she put the cell phone back into her pocket, she raced up to her room, got her suitcase, and threw some unchecked garments into it. Then she grabbed some things from the bathroom, an extra shoe, her passport, a map and other papers, and put them down on a table to fetch a handbag for the papers, purse, some tissues and the cell phone. The rest went into the suitcase as well, along with an umbrella, which she didn't forget.

Elizaveta stopped, panting, and thought about what else she'd need. The plane ticket was a lost case; those are sold out weeks beforehand. Should she check her usual hideouts to see if she was thoughtful enough to get one?

Some minutes later, she sat on the floor, legs crossed, with a drawer before her, and looked through its contents. Divorce papers… maps… an old photo album… wait, what was that? She pulled a light blue envelope out from under a package of candles, and she nearly had a heart attack- it was a plane ticket from Budapest to London Heathrow for that afternoon, with a stick note about the address. After she could rest assured that this envelope was safely hid in her handbag, she tidied up the mess she made. She didn't worry about her clothes: the pants and blouse she wore that day for work would do just fine. Suitcase locked, handbag in safety, she locked her house and began to run towards the next taxi station. There she fortunately found a free car, and ordered the driver to take her to the airport.

When she arrived, she had about one and a half hour until departure, but she saw it best to check already in- she preferred waiting in the departure lounge. That reminded her, she forgot something… what was she to do during the about two hours of the flight?

AN

Well, that's the beginning. Even I have only vague ideas as to what will happen. I know I must have failures, and it's not beta-d, so feel free to correct me… and I'd really like a beta. As for character portrayals, I hope I could get everyone IC, thought I'd have some things to add.

1, In my interpretation, Austria is someone who would rather the things never changed, and who likes his calm and usual lifestyle- but would be ready to fight if it was endangered or turned upside down. The "hobbies first" and the getting lost things are things Himaruya mentions as well. As for the not noticing the apocalypse bit, I heard a writer (I don' know the name; the friend of mine I heard that quote from didn't say it) once wrote when the world had to end, he wanted to be in Austria, for they would realize it only about 20 years later. What I wrote about the divorce is true: the Czech, the Croats, the Slovaks and the Hungarians claimed indepencence in 1918-19, and the treaties were in 1919-20. Oh, and in case you wonder: Land am Berge, Land am Strome is the national anthem of Austria. That bit with "blessed are..." is an actual Austrian saying.

2, Now that I think about it, Turkey must have a special soft spot for flowers. They made excellent jobs with their rose gardens (creating new species and such as well) when they had the time. Budapest has a hill calles "Rose Hill", since there's the grave of a famous Turk, Gül Baba (it means Uncle/Father Rose), who is said to have been especially skilled at gardening. I read several fics with Turkey where Turkey calls Hungary Tulip, so I stuck to it. And I'm sure Turkey and Holland argue about whose flower the tulip is… xd

3, Oh yes, Bulgaria and his roses and rose oil are famous. Them being geographically close and sharing some point of history (losers of both world wars, Ottoman empire), I figured he and Hungary would make more than acquaintances, less than friends.

4, According to her profile, geraniums and tulips are Hungary's national flowers. I was surprised to find that out (she's my nation-tan, after all), but it figures; those flowers appear really often in folklore, and almost every rural flower garden has geraniums. Sissi was really popular in Hungary (and in my opinion, they were alike in character); maybe the improving of Franz Joseph's reception could be thanks to that.

That's all now, folks! I hope you enjoyed it, reviews, ideas and constructive criticism are welcome, as long as you are polite. One last thing: I couldn't resist but put in a "quote" (it's not in quotation marks, mind you!) from a character song.


	2. Chapter 2

So, I'm hyped up by the fact that at least some people seem to like this especially great thanks for_ Yana25_ from dA- if it wouldn't be for her, I wouldn't have taken liking of this rare pairing.

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't write fanfics- I'd be the manager of England as a rock star, and I'd make all the nation-tans to make a karaoke-singing competition… *daydreams* Oh… too bad I couldn't decide who would win… Most of the seiyuu's have so great singing voices! (The only exception is America, but if you listen to a selection of the voice actor's other songs, he can sing really well, it's just that they thought Alfred would be to hyper to calm down and sing well, I guess.)

**_2_**

She stretched her arms, stifled a big yawn and rubbed her eyes before sitting down on her bed in a relatively cheap hotel room in London, quite close to the address they were given as the meeting's place. Really, Lady Fortune did favor Hungary that day: she thought the ticket she forgot about (out of sight, out of mind, as they say), and even found a decent room in such a short notice. By decent, she meant that it had all she needed: a wardrobe, a bed-end table, a comfortable bed, a TV, internet-connection (although she forgot her laptop at home, so she couldn't use that, she remembered) and a separate bathroom; it was neat and homely, and it even had a good view on the nearby park.

Elizaveta was glad she came so early. It was good to know that the rest of them will arrive only tomorrow at dawn (now, according to the alarm clock that belonged to the little room, it was about 8 pm), at the time she usually did as well when they had a European or UN-Meeting in London. Now that she had a place to sleep at, she felt calmer, and even the tiredness (induced by the fact she slept during the whole flight) began to wear out. She stood up and went to the bathroom to take a shower (she figured it would help her waking up… though she heard that a good hot shower was better for insomnia), and about fifteen minutes later, she returned to her bedside and unpacked suitcase. Pondering about what to do next, she decided she'd dress up and go for a night walk, even if it was getting late. Some nation she would be if a couple of harassing, drunk people would stop her from doing as she wanted…! She could take care of herself just fine, thank you very much.

So, she told the receptionist she'd be back in a few minutes, and departed. How long has it been since she could afford herself leisurely strolling on the streets of London for the last time? It must've been between the two world wars… Her lips curled into a sad and nostalgic smile as she walked towards the Thames: this was one of the few cities (apart from her own land) that she grew really fond of. She liked the life and culture of Paris, as well, she could never forget Tuscany, Venice and the renaissance, and Vienna felt almost like home (no wonder: Roderich's and her capitals were built in much the same style), but London had a special air to it. In the nineteenth century, she remembered how eagerly she watched every progress: the railway, the horse races, the steamboats, everything. If Paris was a store of culture, style and artistic ideas, London was full of economical and technological wonders: it showed how hard organizing a worldwide empire was, and it truly contained everything life itself had.

The empire, of course, is long gone, along with its power and influence. Still, for her at least, the city has lost nothing of its values, no matter how very it changed. The Docklands, for example, used to be one of the most dangerous and poorest parts of London, and look at it now: it's became a business district. The thick fog so many writers have mentioned lives perhaps only in England's memories. More and more restaurants are opened from all over the world: Italian, Chinese, Indian, Mexican… some even specialize in the usual menu of the secondary grammar school cantine's meals! And, of course, she had a restaurant as well, and not any: The Gay Hussar.  
All right, when she first heard the name, she broke down laughing as well (causing England to turn as red as a tomato or one of his roses). But that's not the point. It was a well-renowned restaurant, now mostly visited by the intelligentsia, authors, poets, and so on- which gave her a feeling akin to that of a café in Budapest back in the 1910-30'ies. She really enjoyed popping in, for instance, New York Café at weekends (when her work allowed her to), listening to his famous artists and watching them from behind a newspaper and a good espresso or tea.  
_I remember France was really keen on keeping his eyes on his artists and going out with them around _fin de siècle _as well… _-Hungary thought, though she immediately had to shook her head in order to prevent imagining _what exactly_ France was doing in, for instance, Moulin Rouge… Some things are not meant to be seen even in one's mind's eye. She had to admit it, though: this air of Paris was attracting and contagious- for some, even addicting; that's why Paris was on her list of favorite cities along with London and Vienna.  
She came to a sudden halt, frowning. She didn't remember this by-street… it was narrow and consequently dark, with buildings of brick on both sides and light only at the ends (one behind, and one far in front of Hungary). She strained her ears, but heard only the rustling of the wind and farther away the murmur of the cities. _I don't like that…_ -she thought, biting her lip, pondering about which way to go. This felt like a scene from a bad movie… She felt sure she would hear footsteps from behind any moment now.  
A droplet of sweat ran down the back of her neck as she waited in the all too great silence, not daring to breathe or move- and she nearly shrieked when the sound of someone approaching her met her ears. She began to run blindly, squeezing her eyes shut; completely forgetting she was sure to get lost that way, taking turns randomly. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, her lungs and legs, however, didn't fail her yet, thanks to the fact she tried to keep herself in a good shape. Not that she could be glad for that for long, though: she soon collided with someone or something then fell back to the ground. She heard hissed swearing (in English) while she stood up.

'S-sorry, I didn't mean to…'  
'Wha… Hungary?' the other one whispered, getting up as well. His voice was familiar… wait, what did he call her?  
'England?' she asked back, flummoxed. 'Now, they do say that the world is small, but I wouldn't have expected…'  
England hushed her with an upheld hand, harkening. She did the same, but couldn't hear a thing. Maybe she wasn't being followed in the first place at all… She blushed to a deep scarlet, glad for the darkness to conceal her shame. Great, she got scared like a little girl for nothing, and now she doesn't even know where exactly she is! She mentally cursed herself, not realizing England had turned back to her.  
'So… what were you doing here at this time, if I may ask?'  
That's a long story…'-she sighed, uncomfortably shifting her legs. 'I came from my motel to take a night stroll, my thoughts got carried away, found myself in a dark by-street I didn't know, and I thought I heard approaching footsteps. N-not that I can't defend myself, mind you, I just… didn't think.' she groaned, hiding her face in one of her hands. 'That sounded lousy, didn't it?'  
'N-no, it didn't… But… how come you're here already? I thought everyone else arrived only tomorrow morning.'  
'I realized only today that there's a meeting tomorrow, and the ticket I booked well beforehand then hid so well I forgot about was for this afternoon. Er… I think I'd better get back to my motel… could you tell me which street we are in?'  
'I could… but I'm afraid you'd get lost again, so I walk back with you. What's this motel's name?'  
Hungary told it, blushing in shame again. Did she look so helpless and pitiful? Before she could voice her objections or lie that she would find her way on her own back just fine, England already took her wrist and began to lead her into the right direction. Her fingers twitched involuntarily at his touch, and she felt more blood running into her cheeks. A part of her wished she could just tear her hand away from him and tell him there was no need for that, but she didn't find the strength in herself, and not because of his grip, no. He held her wrist delicately, so that he didn't cause pain, yet firmly enough to keep her walking. What stopped her was… she didn't know, what it was, but she seemed to enjoy it, as much as she preferred being independent.  
She had several persons she looked up to during her life and several nations as well. One of these was England, who first made her feel like she was accepted fully in Europe, despite her nomadic past and Asian roots. Sure, the wife of her first king was Bavarian and he got a crown from the Vatican, but… mercy and accepting are two different things. Perhaps because he felt to be an outsider as well, he understood her more than most, and she had learned a lot from him. For example, when she was here back in the nineteenth century…  
She blinked a few times, not daring to shake her head but wanting to get rid of the memories of the palace near Paris from 1920- for usually, these memories followed her jovial visit with Széchenyi, when she thought about England, and she really didn't want them to get to her right now.

They got to a more frequented street with more light where he let go of her wrist and Hungary turned to take a proper look at her guide. She could tell already when they set out, that he wore black, but now it became clearer: a black leather jacket and gloves, a pair of black jeans, a navy blue, long-sleeved t-shirt, and a blue and black checkered scarf in his neck.  
'Where have you been?' she asked, looking quickly away. Well, that certainly wasn't a usual outfit of Arthur Kirkland, but she had to admit it, it suited him well.  
'I play in a rock band sometimes…' he admitted, blushing slightly. Hungary arched an eyebrow.  
'In a rock band?'  
'Why, is it that hard to imagine?' he retorted, getting uncomfortable.  
'No, no, not at all, I'm sure you've got a good voice…'  
'Well… come and listen to us once, then. I'll write a mail about the times and place…'  
'Really? Thanks!' she said, beaming.  
'Don't expect too much, though. We can't get too famous, or else I'll draw attention to myself…' he sighed, looking crestfallen. Hungary could only imagine, how it must've felt, having to sabotage your own work you've put your heart into… But she had to admit, he had a point: the media would more than happily cover the case of the un-aging rock star, and the secret of the nations wouldn't be a secret anymore.

They arrived to her motel quicker then she would've thought, and they faced each other to say goodbye.  
'Tomorrow, on the meeting, then.' he said.  
'Y-yes…' she muttered. She wanted to say something else, but she didn't know why, and before she could find it out, England already set out to get back to his band or to get a good sleep before tomorrow's usual chaos known by the name of a 'UN-Meeting'.

Hungary went in, changed to her nightdress and tried to fall asleep… but whenever she closed her eyed, she couldn't help but try to imagine what England might look like on the stage.

**AN  
**The explanations of some hints...  
_19th century visit with Széchenyi_: A young aristocrat of ours, István Széchenyi travelled about Europe, but England had a lasting influence on him: he wanted to bring the railways, horse racing and casinos to Hungary (so that the aristocrats will spend their money in Hungary), and to build a stone bridge on the Danube at Budapest (now known as Széchenyi Lánchíd/Chain Bridge).  
_Bavaria and Vatican_: The wife of our first king, István (Stephen) was a Bavarian princess called Gizella/Giselle, who brought missionaries and monks along to help the ones the father of István already called in. He did get a crown from the pope, although it's not the same one as today's Holy Crown- but it's the symbol that matters, isn't it?  
_Palace near Paris_: The Trianon Palace, where the treaty with Hungary was signed after WWI. It cost about 2/3-s of the country's territories- if you care to know more, wikipedia. Let me add: An English politician said after all the peace treaties, that those were mere armstices for 20 years. How right he was... Oh, and what about Austria? As a French politician said: Austria is what remains.  
_Cafés: _In Hungary, the styles of the fin de siécle were introduced later, at the beginning of the 20th century (1906, to be exact), and they remained dominant until about the mid-20ies. Cafés belonged to this culture as much as catthedrals did to the gothic style, in Hungary at least: authors and poets even gave their favourite cafés as their addresses. It must've been a sight to behold a café back then... New York Café was an actual café, at that time at least.  
_France and fin the siécle: _I imagine France in this period as... two times as himself as he usually is, so... it's like really... REALLY... advisable, to watch out around him.


	3. Chapter 3

Yay! So, third chapter it is? Already?! I wouldn't have thought it would be so easy… but of course, reviews are like fuel for authors^^  
What I DO have troubles with sometimes, is keeping their reactions in bay. I want to give them time… Even England would agree.  
England: Of course I do! Giving enough time and not forcing is essential!  
France: Olala, look at that! _Angleterre_ is giving an advice about love that actually works!  
England: Why, you bloody wine-face! You've forgotten I had Shakespeare, Byron, Keats and Shelley?! *tries to give France a nice big punch*  
Me: *holding Arthur by one arm* Er… England… I don't think this would be the time for this…  
England: *calms down* You are right. *glares at France* After the Meeting. Bare hands. You and me.  
_Disclaimer_: I don't own any of them, unfortunately. Or else, I'd be the matchmaker xd *The whole UN glares at her and begins to walk in her direction* J-Just joking! Geez, don't you understand jokes?!

_**3**_

The meeting room was nearly full, although it was still about 15 minutes left till nine. Hungary sat down to an unoccupied chair- it wasn't as easy as one would think. Most nations were gossiping and chatting in small groups, leaving the table nearly deserted, but their coats, bags and other possessions more than clearly signed the few vacant seats. As she examined the area next to her, Elizaveta had to suppress a moan: Gilbert's Prussian blue jacket (what the ex-nation was even doing here was beyond everyone, but he kept visiting the meetings anyway) hung loosely on her one side (next to Ludwig's gray and Feliciano's vanilla-colored overcoats), and… France's perfumed, white tuxedo lay nicely folded on the other. On the other hand, the amorous man would surely be irritated to see that brown bomber jacket with the white 50 on the back in his neighborhood. What was it doing there? The grass-green coat (belonging to a certain Englishman) on the American's right gave the answer- and she felt nearly prone to quote the writing on Hell's gates from Dante's Divine Commedy in her mind: _All hope abandon, ye who enter in.._.

Clearly, she had taken Spain's place, thus separating the Bad Company Trio… But she couldn't find any other! Turkey of course sat by Heracles, so did Japan, and along with him came the rest of the Asian family. That meant Russia had to be right there, too, with Ukraine, Belarus- and the unwilling Baltic trio, plus a slightly irritated (by the looks Ivan gave Toris when China refused to notice him) Poland. Estonia attracted Finland to the spot, and so the Nordics found themselves in the lot as well. Feliciano sat between Ludwig and Lovino, who in turn… Was that Vatican, who sat closer of the two, or perhaps San Marino? They both had the same curl in their hair as the two Italies… no, it had to be Vatican: he had shorter hair, a cross in his neck, accompanied with the black trousers, black shirt and the white collar of the clergy. The rest of the world- Oceania, Southeast and Inner-Asia, Africa, Middle and South-America- sat in what seemed to be a mess, but she had the feeling it had to have the same reasons as the sitting order at their side of the table.  
A cheerful as always Spaniard came in as the last of the expected nations (followed closely by Canada, but only America, France and Gilbert noticed him), with a basketful of tomatoes.  
'Oh… hi, Spain… er… I guess I've taken your seat, but you can have it back…' Hungary said awkwardly, her face slightly resembling the fruits Antonio brought along.  
'Oh, no, you can of course stay where you are! I don't mind sitting somewhere else at all!' he waved, smiling broadly. That, with his loud voice, did the least of the things Elizaveta wanted: it made France and Gilbert realize who they were witting with (since they have been chatting idly with Ludwig and Feliciano at one of the windows). Now they both turned towards her, with a mischievous glint in their eyes.  
'Well, well, well, if it isn't our lovely _l'Hongrie_… -said France, taking some steps to his seat. –Really, it's an honor to…  
'Cut this shit, I'm not in the mood for it- that's for one. For two: last time I checked, I was nobody else's but my own.' She whispered in French, earning a cringe from Francis, a light chuckle from Russia (who looked up when he saw France moving towards the green-eyed woman), a hidden but approving smile from Switzerland, and big eyes from England. She didn't notice how the room went quiet.  
'Oh, if you knew how you…'  
'Hurt your feelings? Sorry, but I thought you were by far too self-secure enough for only that to work.' Hungary answered in English. England snickered, Switzerland spat the mouthful of water he had been drinking, and America burst out laughing- seemingly enjoying the fact it wasn't he who had to argue with France or England.  
'Touché.' Arthur murmured under his breath, in unison with Russia and France.  
'Somebody's tongue became quite sharp, I see…' it was now France's turn to hiss in his language.  
'Blame your buddy here- growing up with him does that to you.' Hungary motioned towards Gilbert with her head, now in her normal tone, and of course in English.  
'She's got a point.' Germany chimed in, causing everyone else to turn towards him in disbelief. Germany getting into an argument, not ending it was of course absolutely new to the UN. 'What? You all know it.' he murmured, blushing slightly.  
'West! On whose side are you, I ask?!' Gilbert cried. Germany frowned and already opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word, England cleared his throat.  
'As much as I bet we all enjoyed this, he have serious business to do here, so, in order to avoid future mishaps… America, you will swap places with me, so that I can keep this wino-bastard in check. Ludwig, Eliza, I guess I can trust you to deal with Gilbert… but…' he furrowed his eyebrows in thought 'that reminds me… there's one less German-speaking nation here… Where's Austria?'  
'Oh, yeah, about that… he said his boss made him swear they have a talk today at 10 am.' Hungary explained. The host sighed, but nodded, meaning he accepted the fact.  
'All right, let's begin then.'

A couple of hours later, the nations began to leave, one by one or in groups. France particularly had a vengeful and infuriated appearance; he unceremoniously grabbed Gilbert and Antonio by the hand and left as soon as England closed his file, and he kept shooting glares in his female neighbor's direction during the meeting. This made Hungary think twice about hurrying back to the motel and packing- she had probably better wait until the Frenchman calmed down, if he ever did at all. Germany ensured her he would keep an eye on Gilbert, and even little Italy swore (along with Romano, which was weird), that they saw to Spain and France.  
'I'm sure Spain isn't mad at all, though. The main problem is that jerk France…' Lovino said, getting a bit uncomfortable.  
'Don't worry, fratello, he'll listen to me just as Spain-nii listens to you.' Feliciano chimed in with a bright smile.  
'Even if he doesn't… the shortest way he can get to you is through MY possession- I doubt that he'll take a place, that's much too detectable.' Switzerland added, lifting a revolver he had on him right now instead of his rifle- indicating what would happen to France should he dare to cross the Swiss border.  
'And Austria-san's there, too.' Italy continued. Hungary had to suppress a bitter smile- since when was Austria a match to France? He certainly wasn't one at the time of Napoleon, or in the world wars. She thanked them all anyway, and they set out as well, leaving only her and England. Elizaveta was surprised to see the all-packed briefcase- and a single file in the Englishman's hand. She gave him a questioning look, to which he slightly blushed.  
'So… Since Austria didn't come, he'll need a copy of the materials, and… I thought you could give it to him.'  
Hungary nodded, reaching out for the file and taking it safely away.  
'I didn't remember you could put up with France like that. It was… well…' Now he was behaving strangely, looking everywhere but at the woman in front of him, hands in his pockets (something he rarely did), his cheeks still a little reddened. Hungary couldn't help but find this kind of… cute, in the ir… w-wait, did she nearly think of Arthur Kirkland as irresistible? She felt the blood rushing towards her cheeks, quickly turned her head away as well, and knew her face must be trying to put Antonio's tomatoes and even her own precious paprika to shame. O-okay, she had to admit, he was good-looking, and nice, and… had loads of other values, too, like courtesy and stuff, but…

But realistically speaking, could she actually believe she had the same kind of influence on him as he did on her? No chance. He had loads of nations who had more to thank to him than her or even grew up under his care. She saw it on every meeting, although it only met her eyes now that she thought about it: especially with America (and sometimes with France as well), he might have been bickering, but he couldn't have meant everything just the way he said it. He was a master of irony, sarcasm and subtle hints, after all… and he was always absent from those birthday parties in Washington DC, to which practically the whole great world was invited, and most of them came as well. Yes, she did, too- and it always made her wonder, why is America looking towards the east from time to time, or re-checking the guests, as if expecting someone who didn't come. It seemed they both cared for the other, and both felt lonely on the 4th of July.

No, she couldn't delude herself: this blush of Arthur Kirkland's had nothing to do with her person. It was only a natural reaction from someone who's used to giving sharp remarks and scolding, rather than complaints- and as for the complaint itself, it was merely due to the fact that she had opposed England's long-time rival, as it should be. She could consider him as nearly a friend, but he had always others, others who knew him way better than she did.  
What she didn't quite understood (or didn't want to admit the reason even to herself), was why this would bother her in the slightest. She couldn't allow it to, not if she wanted to keep this where it should belong.  
'Well… it was good job and nicely done.'  
'Thanks…' Hungary smiled, yet she couldn't bear to look in his eyes- she was afraid it would give her completely away, even those things she didn't dare to think through in the first place. She turned towards the door, wanting to leave… but would it do any good? Would it prevent her from realizations?  
'Until the next meeting, then.' she said, finally looking him in the face, managing a little smile.  
' Yes… until then.'

Only as she entered her small motel room did Hungary remember a simple yet crucial fact: the next meeting will be in Paris, in two months.

**AN**

Well, not too much to say about this one. As for the fact that Russia and Hungary speak French: they were just as fascinated by the French Enlightenment and _fin de siècle_ as everyone else in Europe.  
I hope I give Hungary-chan justice here… and if you are disappointed by England's final sentence: he would like to say pretty much, but… he just finds it difficult, after Hungary behaving like that at least. Bu he begins to feel something as well…^^


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter number 4! Yayzerz, I'm really happy! Just to let you know: even I don't really know what's going to happen at the end of the story or the next chapter. Which makes my job easier (I don't have to worry about giving too much hints) and more interesting: I'm just as curious about how they will get together as you are^^  
_Disclaimer_: If I owned Hetalia, I don't know what I'd do… *blushes and tries not to imagine it*  
England: *rolls eyes* You couldn't deny your nationality if you wanted to…  
Me: Pot calling the kettle. You're far more perverted than I am, but rest assured: It's a part of why we love you^^  
England *gawks, splutters and whatnot *

_**4**_

Oh she was doomed all right, Elizaveta just knew it.  
As soon as she opened the door of her house on the day after the meeting, the smell of her late meal reminded her of her failure: she completely forgot about the lunch she made herself two days ago. She didn't dare to eat it now, not after two nights and one and a half days spent without refrigerator in this Indian summer! The last thing she needed was a couple of days in hospital with food poisoning. Her boss would really go bonkers if she dared to fall ill now, with one of her cities being the European Capital of Culture…  
That's the other thing: Sarkozy apparently found out why France was sulking (the nation himself didn't whine, she was fairly sure, knowing his big pride and ego- it was a personal offence, so Francis was sure to keep the revenge at that level), he told the Hungarian Prime Minister and the President of the Republic, who in turn called her already when she was still in London, and lectured her about how to talk to major West-European nations. To which Elizaveta said in rapid Hungarian that it was Francis himself who began being a total jerk in the first place, and adding that they might be her bosses and they had the final word in diplomacy, economy and other things, but this belonged to her private life and they will respect that. Well, maybe she was using a bit stronger language (including that she wasn't their frigging puppet, for Christ's sake), but it meant the same.  
After she threw the meal out and washed the dishes, she sat down to her kitchen table with a great sigh and buried her face into her hands. She didn't know what's gotten into her lately. That fight with France could've been avoided had she been less irritated deep inside (with what, she had no idea, but her favorite frying pan lying across the Channel and in her house could have a great deal to do with it, she guessed), and had she not thought France has just trying to get her yet again. When she said goodbye to England, she most probably made a laughing-stock of herself- she didn't remember behaving like that since she hit puberty, and that was back in the Middle Age! As for her bosses: she was just like every other nation, she kept her calm with them 90% of the times. The last freak-out she remembered was… yes, around 1956, after the uprising was crushed. She had a vague feeling she'd have to apologize, but she dismissed it- it's no use trying to pretend nothing happened.

Hungary blushed at the thought, for it reminded her that she must face her emotions. They were in a complete mess, that's why she acted so unlike her usual self. What might have caused this? She liked to know the reasons, the logic behind the things (maybe that's why she learned to play chess so quickly). She could give good advises even about emotions and romance (being a romantic deep down)- yet her own situation seemed to be an unsolvable mystery.  
_I need a third person who can judge clearly… _-she sighed. The only problem was that she didn't know who to ask. Feliciano or Romano are most likely busy with Spain and France, Germany was even more hopeless than her, so were Japan and Switzerland, America, Russia and the other aquaintances were out of question, Feliks had his own problems with Euro2012, and Austria… well… he wasn't the best, either. Of course she considered only nations- there was no way she would tell THIS to a human! She's far too old to behave like a teenage girl with a…  
She shook her head. This was just ridiculous; she certainly didn't have a crush on anyone, let alone developed one in the past days! Or… or did she?

Oh, no… she was blushing again, and her heart suddenly beat faster. That meant she did, in fact, have a crush, and a huge one at that. Maybe not only a crush, rather…  
No. She had to stop here. It was already a great mistake, calling the crush by its name. Words did indeed have power, even if not said out loud. In this situation, for example, it was crystal-clear that nothing would ever be the same between her and England. She could pretend to be still only friendly, but it wouldn't be just like as it used to be. Not for her, at least, and she knew her face and eyes had a knack of behaving like an open book- the last thing she would be able to bear was anyone finding out, especially England himself. Man, did she begin to sound cliché… But she could understand now: the near-friendship they had until now might not suffice for her, but she didn't dare to risk it, no matter how cowardly this seemed. And she didn't see any chance he saw anything like that exactly in her. As much as she loved daydreaming, this one time she felt she couldn't allow that to herself.

Trying to shake these thoughts out of her head, she stood up and went up to her room, to unpack her suitcase and to check her e-mails. By now, there was surely something new about that next meeting…  
She face-palmed; how on Earth could she forget that?! It will be in Paris, and she will have to be more than cautious, now that she angered France. Great… another problem on her to-solve-list. Really, bloody wonderful. She was as good as done for, the way she knew France and his revenges. She might as well compose a will…

Her hands were slightly shaking as she put all her garments away, and she closed the doors or her wardrobe with unneeded strength. That's not good… she'd have to go shooting or riding again to calm down, and she didn't have time for that. Closing her eyes, she tried to take a deep breath and overcome the stress. When she opened them, she felt a bit better, so she looked around to decide what to do next- and a weird hairgrip that was standing on one of the shelves met her eyes.  
It had the shape of a butterfly, a black one with reddish brown and yellow dots. As soon as someone looked at it, one could see something was out of place- after closer examination, you could know it was inversed. No, not the colors… rather… the head and the abdomen were switched. Hungary remembered it very well- it was a gift from England, a little token she received when she personally went to tell him they stood in war during WWII. He only nodded, and with a slight blush, gave her a little package, only to be opened after she got home. This was its content, and a short letter, in which he said he understood this was war, and that he didn't hold any grudge.  
She had to bite into her lip, deep in thought. Did he hope they would meet again, under better circumstances? That she would fly back to him? Or he merely knew she wanted nothing more than to keep out of that war, and he wanted to give her hope, meaning not even those days could last forever? Whatever his intentions were, she kept this small gift in high esteem, refusing to wear it not because it wouldn't have fitted with her clothes (that wasn't even true anymore; she had several garments she liked in a similar style) or Balaton, but in fear of losing or maiming it.

The ringing of her phone caught her off-guard- it was Austria. She answered it.  
'Hallo, Roderich… did England tell you I have the material of the meeting for you?'  
'No, he didn't, but I'm glad you do. When could you give them to me?' She was sure her voice sounded weird even in her neighbor's ears.  
'Er… since, last time we met I went to you, why don't you come to Budapest? Next weekend or something.'  
'Good idea. I will tell the exact time later. Bye.' And with that, he hung up on her. Hungary lowered the phone, looking at it sadly.

_He doesn't know me that much, after all… _

She was surprised to find that this thought was not followed by an unbearable, piercing pain in her heart as it would have been not so long ago- it only felt as a light punch, as if from young Italy. It looked like she moved on after Roderich… and so did he, apparently. Or he was just being the gentleman again and not asking, what was wrong with her. It was always difficult to tell what Roderich Edelstein thought… even if she herself could be secretive at times as well.  
She sighed, finally sitting down to her laptop and connecting to the internet. Upon signing in to her e-mail address, she found several unread messages, even from various countries. Romano assured her Spain was all right and that he (Romano) would still look out, just to be sure. Germany said he just got video games (lent by Japan), beer and of course wurst for Gilbert, trying to keep him occupied and get him work the steam off. Feliciano didn't write yet, so she assumed he either didn't get to talk to Francis properly or he didn't succeed and kept trying. There was one mail from Francis himself, however. It practically told her to be prepared (although in a lot more words), and gave the month, day and address of the meeting. Some spams arrived, too, a reminder from her boss about the private audiences, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the last message to be from England. She opened it, cursing herself for getting so excited already.

_Hello, Hungary,  
__I think you forgot one little thing when you said good-bye… I invited you to a concert, and told I'd tell you some dates and places. If you want a good place, come early- there's usually a crowd. And… wait for me after the show at the side entrance, will you? I… I mean… we don't want you to get lost again, do we?  
__A-anyway, write about when you'll come.  
__See you then!  
__England_

And then came a list, consisting of dates, times, names and addresses of clubs; most had a link as well, so she could check better out if she was uncertain where it was (which happened in most of the cases). She felt her face becoming a bright red to put Japan's rising sun to shame: that little bit about the invitation totally slipped out of her mind! And she couldn't just go there and vanish, either: he expected her to wait, which meant talk will be inevitable. Hungary truly didn't know if she should cry with joy or with sorrow and shame as she wrote her answer.

_Look at the bright side- all of these times are before the next meeting… I'll have at least something to look forward to…_

**AN  
**Getting there, getting there… xd three little remarks:  
_1,_I listened to "Hakasama no Chou"(The Inversed Butterfly) by SNoW (opening of Jigoku Shoujo/Hell Girl, 1st series) recently again, and seeing the lyrics and their English translation, I couldn't resist… so, that's how the little gift came to be.  
_2,_Out of the later Allied, Hungary had practically the best relations with England between the two world wars, and it stayed to be fairly normal even during WWII- or as normal as it could be with two opposing forces. Let it be noted, though, that none of the two countries soldiers had fought against each other (at least I never heard of a frontline where both had been present), and Churchill proposed disembarkation on the Balkan- as we know, he had been voted off; they might have thought that the mountains would make it too risky, plus Stalin was probably planning well beforehand.  
_3,_ Well... France and his grudge-holding might be familiar from the scene where he tries to force England into marrying him. After England refuses, about 10 or 15 years pass, when they try to join the EU- but are rejected by France. Only after Francis gets a new boss does the situation change.

ps: Do you have any good song ideas for England to sing? I think "Wake Me Up When September Ends", "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and "American Idiot" (Oh, yeah, I couldn't leave America out xd) by Green Day and "My Interpretation" by Mika would be great for him, but I'd like to have a little more, in case I need them:)


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, the long-awaited concert of Iggy, the rock-star and absolutely invincible English gentleman! *face radiating with anticipation and bouncing on her chair while singing-along with said song*  
_Disclaimer: _I don't own any of them… though I'd love to listen to Iggy's, Russia's, France's, Japan's and Germany's singing all day long… *sighs* Oh, and I absolutely don't own any of the songs.

_**5- About two weeks later, London**_

It was surprisingly dry for an English autumn, although the sky was cowered in thick, dark-grey clouds, adding to the darkness that gradually grew with the sun's setting. Hungary sat down on a bench in a park (she couldn't quite remember the name), opposing the inner voice that told her to move on and not stop. She needed to sit down and clear her thoughts, plus checking the map she brought along would be a good idea as well.  
If she was ever wanting of a mental "storage-cleaning" in her life, it was now. Since the Meeting and her realization at home, she didn't dare to touch the topic of England and her feelings- or that of France and his revenge, though she considered that one (stupid as it might seem) to be of little importance now. Not to mention that all she could do about that issue was enduring and taking the fall, as much as she hated to admit it.  
The problem of England, however, was different. Should she take the risk and try to find out if her feelings were unrequited? Or would it be better to put her efforts into maintaining a façade, as if not a single thing would've changed in the first place, hoping for the feeling to fade?  
Her chances at the last one were slim, she was forced to admit. She was hardly as good an actor as Austria, Japan, England or France (that she had to give to that pervert: he was an expert at faking being hurt and concealing actual injuries), she was too easy to see through. Some said it was because she thought too much for her own good. Oh, she remembered hearing this sentence at least four times, always from someone else and always infuriating her: First from Austria with an unreadable expression, then from Turkey with a wide grin or a roll of his eyes, from Germany with a nearly pitying look and even from Russia, accompanied by that small but threatening smile of his that sent shivers down anyone's spine (save Belarus and America).  
She was stuck with the first one, as it seemed- but she had no idea as to how to do it without making a total idiot out of herself. Of course she couldn't just ask flat out… she'd stumble on the words, get as red as a tomato, and couldn't possibly meet his green eyes. E-mail or texting didn't help, either- neither did the fact that she didn't dare to ask anyone for advice.

She sighed as she got up to prevent going numb. This lead nowhere… and it was about time she set out to the club Arthur's band was performing in. Occasionally checking the map for directions, it took Elizaveta about 20 minutes to reach her destination- and high time she did, too: there were already a couple of people, most (if not all) of whom were waiting for the same band as her, at least by the bits of dialogues she managed to hear. Suddenly feeling nervous, she looked around to choose a place to stand at and wait for the concert to begin. It was an oblong, ground-storey room with a stage (with the height of about 60 cm's) and a bar on the two shorter sides, an old, dark brown wooden floor but relatively new (about 5 years old at most) painting on the walls. By the size of it, she reckoned it was usually occupied by tables, chairs, booths (and no stage) by day, but those were all absent right now, leaving plenty of space for audience.

Hungary didn't know how long she had been waiting- she didn't check her cell phone, and her sense of time had been numbed with the mixed anticipation and fear that knit her stomach into a tight knot in one moment to release butterflies in it in the next. She felt highly tempted to go and buy herself a drink, but she be damned if she left her spot in front of the stage when so many people were coming! No, she won't move from that spot until it was all over, thank you very much. Practically the whole room was filled now with anxious people mostly from 15 to 25, all waiting for the owners of the drums, guitars and keyboards- who at long last arrived from the rear of the stage. She immediately saw England, in the same attire he wore when they bet before the Meeting, his blonde hair a bit messier then usually. He was waving, grinning with a slight blush on his cheeks and looked like he was truly at home, enjoying the applause they received. They eyes met, but he only gave her a small smile and a lifted eyebrow to show he noticed her- there wasn't time for anything else then. Stepping to his microphone and grabbing his guitar (a black-and-white Fender Stratocaster), he officially greeted the audience.  
'Hello, everyone! Thanks a lot for coming! I could keep you all up with a boring speech about my day or something, but it would only waste the time, so… let's begin with _My Interpretation_ by Mika!' He looked at the other members of the band as his idea of quick beginning was cheered, gave a nod then began to play.

_You talk about life, you talk about death  
__And everything in between,  
__Like it's nothing and the words are easy.  
__You talk about me and you talk about you  
__And everything I do,  
__Like it's something that needs repeating.  
__I don't need an alibi,  
__Or for you to realize:  
__The things we left unsaid  
__are only taking space up in our head.  
__Make it my fault, win the game,  
__Point the finger, place the blame-  
__It does me up and down.  
__It doesn't matter now…_

_Cos' I don't care  
__If I ever talk to you again!  
__This is not about emotion!  
__I don't need a reason not to care  
__What you say or what happens in the end!  
__This is MY interpretation-  
__And it don't… don't make sense…_

'Wow…' she could only mutter, although even she herself didn't manage to hear it. Seeing him in dressed up the rocker style was one thing, and hearing him sing was fully another. His soft baritone really did made her regret that she secretly promised herself not to squeal and behave like a teenage fan-girl during the performance- she had to stick with jumping up and down and singing along with the chorus, concealing the fact that her heart was beating so hardly it made her worry about her ribs, and that her stomach chose to stick to butterflies. England was simply radiating with energy, with a calmness and careful concentration on his face which rivaled Austria's expression by the piano. Time flew by with a breakneck speed- in one moment, he played the final accords of the first song, then he was halfway through _Boulevard of Broken Dreams_, finished _American Idiot _(she had to grin at that one, yet she felt a certain pang around her heart at this remainder of her slim chances), began _Wake Me Up When September Ends_, then a couple more, and it was already time to say goodbye and pack their things. She left the room along with everyone else before searching for the assigned stage-door he told her to wait at. Soon enough, Arthur Kirkland came, with the guitar on his back- and Hungary realized it was much harder to confront him than she expected to.  
'Great performance back there.' She managed to say.  
'Thanks.' He smiled. 'I'm… I'm glad you came.' he quickly cleared his throat. 'So… where are you spending the night? I… I mean, where's the motel?' he rephrased his words, seemingly a bit awkward to say the least. She didn't understand why he did, but his blush made him almost too cute to endure. They were walking mainly in silence, until one of them slipped a remark that brought them to other nation's love life and they began to guess who were seeing each other.

'Well… Germany and Italy is a sure couple, and so is Spain and Romano.' She said.  
'Which makes me wonder: how can the neat-and-rule-freak put up with Italy's mess? I once read his diary, but that was back in WWII' he frowned, deep in thought. Hungary moaned and buried her face in one hand.  
'Oh no… Gilbert is sure contagious…'  
'What do you mean?'  
Hungary rolled her eyes.  
'Have you ever been to Gilbert's? He has a whole frigging room full of diaries; he's kept them ever since his foundation, never once missing a day- at least so he claims.'  
'You've got to be kidding me…' England's expression was that of mixed unbelieving and amusement.  
'Nope. I even had a chance to take a peek into one of them. It's really boring, he keeps stating how "awesome" he is and how his "old Fritz" would be proud of him.'  
'That's just SO like him…' he moaned. 'Germany did use it better, though; he reported about the state of the war, saying how he has to save Italy all the time and how it used up most of his strength, but he figured it was sort of all right, since Italy was his only friend- he never knew what Japan thought.'  
'He… kind of had a point.' She said with an imaginational sweat-drop at her head. 'As reliable and trustworthy Japan is, he does tend to keep the same face and tone. About Germany's: that might be the one. Feliciano is impulsive, dumb and clumsy, but his intentions are the best. He had gotten to like Germany during WWI, if I remember right… Germany held him captive… or rather, as a guest.' she added with a slight chuckle, earning a snicker and a nod from England.  
'So… who do you think Japan is with, then?'  
Hungary was deep in thought and was about to begin to answer, when they heard a siren from behind them- and soon enough, a police car darted to the direction of her motel. They exchanged a puzzled look before running at get there as quickly as they could. She had a very bad feeling about this whole affair…

When they turned into the street they were heading to, they immediately saw that said building had been closed off. Hungary let out a whimper: all of the possessions she brought along were inside! How was she to get them, not to mention another room to sleep at?  
They addressed one of the policemen.  
'What happened, constable?'  
'Well, we're not too certain, but… someone tried to force his way in one of the guest's rooms. He had been stopped at the reception, of course, and knocked the receptionist out, but vanished. Nothing seems to miss so far, so no worries.'  
'The lady here lives in this motel- do you know if she could pack her things and check out?'  
'Well… judging by the fact that she just arrived with you and the culprit had been prevented from getting to the rooms, I don't see anything against it as long as she gives her data so we can scratch her from the list.'  
'Thanks.' England nodded, grabbing a perplexed Hungary by the wrist and dragged her into the building.  
'W-wait, what was that for?'  
'I hardly think you'd like to spend the night under these circumstances… 'He hissed through gritted teeth.  
'But I wanted to ask if they knew whose room the culprit wanted to break into! He must've asked the receptionist about the room number…'  
'You're right, but we can do that afterwards.'  
Hungary came to a sudden halt, facing a door, then searched for her room keys in her handbag and opened it. The inside of the room had nothing out of the ordinary: the untouched bed, the unpacked suitcase, the furniture… She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and began to walk out to where England waited for her.  
A couple of minutes later, they were back on the street, and much to her dismay, it even began to rain so they had to open an umbrella. The situation was too serious and troubling to bother with asking who the perpetrator was looking for. It seemed to Elizaveta s if bad luck was about to get her: she had a great time with the concert and a normal chat with England, and now, she didn't have anywhere to go. Going home by plane was out of the question, and like hell was she about to get on a train across the Chunnel! She wasn't stupid- she didn't want to see Paris until the meeting, not with France infuriated… wait… could it be…  
She shook her head. No, this was hardly Francis's style; he was more subtle and cruel about his revenges, and he would've waited longer, expecting her to forget about his threat and to let her guard down.

'This way.' England said suddenly. Hungary came to a halt, giving him a questioning look, to which he added. 'W-well… you can't possibly get a room at this hour, and you can't go home until at least the morning, either. So… If you want to… you can sleep at my place tonight.'  
'R-really? Thanks!' she said, and before she could realize it, she lunged forward and hugged him. England couldn't even get over his shock and surprise, let alone returning the embrace when Elizaveta withdrew with her head low, allowing her long hair to hide her redder than ever face.  
'S-sorry…' she muttered, barely audible. He murmured something along the lines that there was no need to apologize, and they went on towards his house in an awkward silence. She mentally cursed herself to hell and back again for being so stupid and oblivious and impulsive and… and partly for wanting to repeat the whole thing, just longer- something she knew all too well to be impossible, so she had to settle for replaying it all over at least a million times and hoping that she couldn't blush any more.

It was only as they arrived in the already pouring rain that she remembered one thing: she had been to London a couple of times, but never once saw the inside of Arthur Kirkland's house. It was a spacious building in Victorian or Edwardian style (she couldn't tell for sure) with three floors, painted in a creamy hue, surrounded by neat lawn, rose bushes and a couple of willow trees; now, at night, nothing else really met her eye.  
Once inside, England gave a quick explanation about the bathrooms, kitchen and the guestrooms she could pick from. Hungary felt the tiredness getting hold of her, so she went into one of the rooms and began to unpack- then gave a shrill scream.  
'What the… do you know you nearly gave me a heart attack?!' Arthur Kirkland said, panting as he rushed in. Her face was bleached whiter than a parchment, as she showed him the reason of the turmoil- a single, radiant yellow petal of a flower. He frowned.  
'Am I supposed to see something on it?'  
'Do you recognize what kind of flower this is?' she asked her voice deadly serious.  
'Why of course, it's a su… no… you don't'  
'Oh yes I do. Ivan managed to find out where I was and thought he'd pay me a visit, as it seems.' She said gravely.  
'Why would he do that? It's not like you're still a satellite of his…'  
'I'm not, but he'd, of course, prefer it otherwise.' she began to calm down, as much as she could with a tall Russian as strong as a bear in her wake. She didn't need a reminder of his strength: she had more than enough experience with it and knowing he could finish her off in... let's say… a couple of hours or if he put his best into it, even a single blow, did make her 'slightly' nervous back in the Cold War.  
'That's ridiculous, I go and have a talk with him… where's my cell?' Arthur patted his pockets from the outside before she could begin to talk him out of this. She flipped her own phone open.  
'Don't bother, I'll call you and we'll find it by the ringtone.'  
'No, there's no need to…' he sputtered, but Elizaveta already pressed the calling button, not noticing the blush the idea gave him before. She had to wonder, though, why he was being so nervous. Was something about the ringtone? Did he find it humiliating?  
From somewhere in the not-far vicinity, a tune began to play. She followed its direction, with England closely behind. It seemed familiar to her… then came the singing.

_You hit my heart, and we'll never be words apart_

She stopped so suddenly she nearly tripped, blushing like a madman. No way… This… this just couldn't be… She was afraid to take a side-glance at the man and ask him, but she knew he stood still as a statue, hands curled into a fist.

_Maybe in magazines, but you'll still be my star.  
__Baby, cos' in the dark, you can she shiny cars,  
__And that's when you'll need me there:  
__With you I'll always share…  
__Because _

He seemingly decided it was time to shut the god damn cell up at last, for he darted out, looking for it everywhere. Hungary remained rooted to the spot, not knowing if she should stop of help him.

_When the sun shines we'll shine together-  
__Told you I'll be here forever,  
__Said I'll always be your friend:  
__Took an oath, I'mma stick it out till the end.  
__Now that it's raining more than ever  
__I know that we still have each other.  
__You can stand under my umbrella,  
__You can stand under my umbrella  
__Ela, Ela, eh, eh, eh, under my umbrella… _

England snatched the phone from the tea-table in the sitting room, slightly panting and head bent low. She stopped about two or three steps away from him, not quite knowing what to say.  
'En… Arthur…' she took a deep breath, relieved yet a bit nervous by the way he suddenly looked up when he heard his human name. 'H-how long…'  
'I… I think… Nineteenth century? You weren't supposed to find out.' he added in a sad tone.  
'Why?'  
'You were married back then, for Christ's sake!' he blurted out.  
'And I've been divorced for over eighty years!' she shot back.  
'You know just as well as I do that it would've been impossible, with Germany and then Russia around. And by the time the Cold War was over, I've been used to it.' He seemed to calm down a bit; at least he spoke in his usual, composed manner. The look in his eyes, however, was too painful to endure. She stepped forward, embracing him in hope that he would understand she felt the same. He stiffened at first then relaxed, returning the hug.

'I thought you were after America…' she muttered.  
'Only because I never once went to his birthday parties? I don't exactly need yet another reminder of _that_ day, although I did believe I was in love with him... But I thought you saw the way he behaved around Russia.'  
Hungary looked up with wide eyes. She couldn't help bursting out laughing. This one was new, even to her- she's had other things to care about since being a UN and NATO-member, and during Cold War, the only one allowed to talk to the west were practically Russia and China.  
'N-no way… you… you've got to be kidding me… the "commie bastard" and the "imperialist pig"?!  
'N-no, I'm not! I was just as surprised as you are, but I'm not sure if it began during WWII or even earlier.'  
'When I tell this tale in the club…' she shook her head, still grinning.  
'They either won't believe a word or will believe all the more eagerly because it's so absurd.' he said with a soft chuckle, but he went back to serious quickly. 'Well… what now?'  
She broke the embrace and sat down on the sofa. In a slightly different situation, this sentence of his would've had a different effect on her (damn her and her imagination…), but this was not the case.  
'I don't know, I really don't. The only thing I know for sure is that you _won't_ be calling Russia. I'll try and talk sense into that frozen and thick head of his when I go home. And there's the next meeting, too… with France, you can never know what he'll do. '  
'Why won't you let me call him?'  
Hungary shot him a disbelieving look.  
'He's about twice your size! You don't want to find out what his blows feel like, let me assure you.'  
'You've got a point, but…'  
'I hardly think you could talk to him effectively.'  
'And why does it make _you_ capable of it?' he shot back, seemingly a trifle offended. Hungary sighed; it's not going to be simple.  
'Try to look at it through his eyes. He's sort of jealous, and you are the last one he wants to talk to right now. On the other hand, if I call him and talk to him…'  
'There's no arguing with Russia, he doesn't take a negative answer.' England shook his head. 'I don't know about his fist, but I know that much, especially after Teheran, Yalta and Potsdam… although I had a feeling he would be like this, judging by the world wars.'  
Hungary nodded. She really didn't felt like elaborating in this topic, and she guessed neither did England (with the Blitz and all), so she stood up, saying: 'I think it's better if we go and rest. The best ideas come during sleep, they say…'  
They agreed on this, wished each other a good night and retired to their rooms.

**AN**

Wow. A double feature! xd Yes, it's twice the usual length, and I know the ending is kind of sudden, but… I took an oath I'll include the cell-phone ringtone scene, and I had to make her stay at Iggy's. Fortunately I remembered I didn't quite use the RussHun bit yet, so it came in handy :D Chekhov, I guess, wrote or said that if you include a rifle hanging on the wall in the scenery at the beginning, that rifle has to be used later.

The ringtone, in case you didn't recognize it, is "Umbrella". Out of the many versions, I picked the Vanilla sky cover, because of the intro and because I think it's style fits Iggy the best.

_When I tell this tale in the club_ is a quote from a spy-novel called "It doesn't always have to be caviar" by Johannes Mario Simmel. It's about a German who used to be a banker in London city, but gets involved in the spy world: he works for and against the French, the Germans, the English, the Americans and the Russians- and cooks delicious meals in the meantime. It takes place during WWII and the Cold War.

Yes, Russia went into the motel, found out the room number, hit the receptionist over the head with his faucet pipe, took the extra key (he didn't leave a fingerprint because of his gloves), opened the room and put a sunflower petal into Hun-chan's suitcase as a reminder, then vanished into thin air xd


	6. Chapter 6

So… they found out how the other one felt, Russia behaved unpredictably… I know he was checking on China and Liet back in Chapter 2, and that it seems kind of sudden, but… I had to get her out of that motel somehow! And I couldn't have made Russia or France burn the building- her garments would've been destroyed, along with the reminder of the culprit. Plus, it's not like France to burn a building…

_**6**_

She awoke to a tap running, then something being laid on the oven- some time later, the scent of tea reached her nose. She stretched, yawning, and wasn't keen on leaving the warm bed just yet. She slept surprisingly well, maybe because she was so much exhausted- which wouldn't be s surprise, judging by…  
Her good mood just flew away as her memories of the last night returned. The sweetness of the discovery about England's feelings was not enough to make her forget the problems- Russia was probably still here, in London, the next meeting drew closer with every hour, and of course there was the question of them: what should they do.

It took the smell of something burning for her to return to reality- she jumped out of the bed, quickly dressed and ran towards the source of the smell (and long swearing in a small voice), since she didn't fully remember where the kitchen was. Maybe she can still save the breakfast…  
Her hasty and rapid greeting was ruined by the fact that England wasn't the only one in the kitchen. She thought she heard her chin collide with the floor. Small little… creatures were floating… no, flying, they had wings… in the air, clad in all the colors she knew- and some even in colors she didn't think of yet. She followed some with her eyes, mouth agape, when…  
'She sees us!' one of them cried, causing half of them to flee into hiding and half of them to gather around her curiously. A couple of them flew around her, as if wanting to see her properly, then whispered among each other.  
'What do you mean… oh, hello.' England turned towards her.  
'Er… England… when did they arrive?' She truly wanted to ask what they were, but she reckoned they would be hurt by that. So much for talking privately to him…  
'They were always here, of course- they even accompany me to the meetings. But… most people don't see them.' He answered, frowning in thought. 'Can it be… that it's because you stayed here for the night?'  
'Wha… no way. Don't tell me you didn't have any guests…'  
'Oh yes, I did, but only America, and he seemed to notice them only on Halloween. That reminds me… did you get any ideas?' England asked as he put two cups of steaming tea and some slightly burnt cookies on the table, then sat down and took a sip of his.  
Hungary nodded, glancing at the fairies, which seemed to understand- they flew away, some giggling, some rolling their eyes and smirking, claiming: "Let's leave the little couple alone, shall we?" (Thus making them both blush.)  
'So… I thought if America is in love with Russia, we should help them… or rather, Russia to realize.' she said matter-of-factly. Arthur, however, didn't seem to take it this easily: he began to cough, slamming the cup down. After he managed to regain his composure and clean most of the mess up, he retorted with a "Are you kidding me, or suicidal, or what?!" look on his face.  
'You want to play matchmaker?! It's just a joke, isn't it? You can't be seriously considering going to _Russia_ and telling him that, there's no telling what he'd do!'  
'Yes. It isn't. And of course I'm not going to tell him just like that! I don't know, how, I don't know, when, but we'll have to get Russia a partner; I'd stick to America if I were you- neither China nor Lithuania are too keen on being close to him, and Belarus is capable of making her big brother cry. Plus… America can keep him in control better than they could, save Belarus maybe.'  
England sighed, resting his head in one of his hands. There really didn't seem to be any other way out…  
'All right, you win. I admit I don't see any alternative, either. But how did you get this idea in the first place? Tell me it doesn't have anything to do with the stuff you talk about with Japan…'  
Hungary blushed again. 'N-no, it doesn't! It was only that making him fall in love with someone else would be way easier than getting his mint off of me. Having a person who'd be glad if his feelings were returned makes it even more so.'  
England arched an eyebrow.  
'The way you say it, it seems almost fair and unselfish…'  
'You know what they say about love and fairness.'  
'Yes, that one is as old as we are.' he admitted, though still keeping his serious face. 'Since you already said you have to make further plans, I suggest we drop this topic.'  
'Agreed.'  
'Next problem to solve?'  
'It would be Francis, but we can't do much about him, can we? The way I know him and his revenges, even a thousand elephants couldn't deter or stop him, and since there's no finding out what he's up to, there's no way we could get properly prepared.'  
'Too true. So, skip that as well. Anything else?'  
'Only us.' she said, hoping her voice didn't quaver and her face didn't get as red as a traffic light. Neither of them met the other's eyes, preferring to look at the tablecloth- and a really fine one at that.  
'Y-you said, I think, that you got… used to it. You didn't… couldn't have… really mean it, right?' Elizaveta spoke at last. 'I mean… nobody possibly gets used to that kind of thing…'  
'Self-delusion can make miracles…' he answered bitterly. 'I made myself believe I didn't have a chance, or even if you would return my feelings, something or someone would still separate us.'  
She wanted to tell him how foolish he was, or how it all didn't matter anymore- or in fact, anything to comfort him. Yet, she couldn't find it in her to open her mouth when she had practically the same thoughts running laps in her head just a couple of days ago.  
'We are hopeless, aren't we.' she muttered. Finally, their gaze met.  
'W-well… I guess… But I don't care.' The blush was weaker, the self-irony and pain vanished from his face. There was a glint in his eyes that told has come to terms with his feelings, and he was much more confident. It kind of reminded her of the concert, and she gave him a smile.  
'That's the Arthur Kirkland I know.' She said, taking his hand that lay on the table. It felt warm, dry, and quite soft for the several things he has been in during his long life. It seemed as if something came across his mind, but he shoved it away; his expression remained practically the same as he stretched his free arm to touch Elizaveta's hair, gently releasing the strands from behind her ears, first the right and then the left. When he withdrew his hand, she thought she saw something red… She could only take a finger, but that was enough for him to stop, and for both of them to realize something. Between the little fingers of their right hands, there was a thin, red thread.  
'High time it showed up, really…' England rolled his eyes. Hungary frowned, making him add: 'It's not like we don't know we're connected already.' She chuckled at that- yes, she had to give him that one. Glancing down on their hands (and thus, on England's wristwatch) again, however, made her realize what time is was- or rather, that she won't be able to linger here for good, as she secretly hoped to. He seemed to notice the change of her expression, for his own saddened as well.  
'When will you have to leave?' he asked, sighing.  
'Early afternoon, I think.'  
She turned away, just as he did. She found it likely that Arthur Kirkland would rather drink himself into oblivion than ever saying two little words: _don't go_. Not aloud, at least- he cried them with his whole demeanor, the way he sat, the not too well hidden look in his eyes…  
But she couldn't promise him all the time he or even she wanted to spend together. They were nations of far countries; consequently, meeting can't be as smooth or often as they hoped to. All right, the distance between them seems relatively small compared to, for example, America's, Canada's or Russia's size… but it still seemed suddenly too much.  
Why? Why did it have to be so difficult from one day to another? She nearly wished she wasn't a nation, but a mere human, so that she could move to London and be at least physically close. The next moment, however, she discharged this silly idea- for of course her mortality would break both of their hearts.

He suddenly sprang up and grabbed her hand, determination on his face.  
'Come on, we're going on a little sight-seeing. It's been a while since the last time I personally escorted you, hasn't it?' he asked, now with a warm smile. She was surprised, but glad to accept, so they quickly set out.  
It seemed as if even the sky would want to give them every chance: it was clearer than usually (as England remarked) as the two of them covered many famous spots of the city. Not too famous ones- Every nation has been to Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey at least twice. All right, they did return to her favorites (Westminster, London Eye, Tower Bridge), but soon enough, they found themselves at Wembley, perhaps the most famous stadium in the whole United Kingdom, and a stadium name Hungary will certainly remember. Although they built a new one on the same spot in 2007, memories take control and they can clearly see the old "Home of English Football". The brunette's face became suddenly more nostalgic than it was.  
'Don't say a thing, I know. That match in 1953, am I right?' he said, half-teasingly.  
'Of course! How could I not remember it? Even your media called it "The Match of the Century".  
'Well, my team WAS undefeated for 90 years in a row until then… if we don't count the British Islands.'  
Generally speaking, they had as good a time as they could… but they had to return to England's house so that Hungary could pack her things. Arthur of course gave her a lift to Heathrow, and stayed with her until it was time to check in.  
'Thanks for the great fun.' she smiled.  
'Any time.' he answered. He looked her in the eye, took her chin between two of his fingers then kissed her.

**AN  
**Aaand… cut! I know, you must be royal mad at me right now, but… I've never written something like that before… O.O Geez, what am I going to do from now on?  
As for that match: It must be boring for an outsider, that whenever football is mentioned to a Hungarian, it somehow ends up at the Gold Team- the famous Hungarian national team from the fifties. They played against England in 53, already with a couple of noted victories behind them- the English media did call it the Match of the Century. In Hungary, we mostly refer to it as 6:3; that was the score. All right, officially it's England-Hungary- 3:6, since it was in Wembley. What England says about his team is true- they were undefeated, if you don't count Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland (who beat them 2:0 in 1949, but in Liverpool, not in Wembley). Let it be noted, that when the English came to Hungary, the score was 7:1, which is the largest point difference the English national team has ever lost with. Unfortunately, those golden days are all long gone for the Hungarian football… so now we pride ourselves in our water polo boys and kayak-canoe! xd  
The 'original' Wembley was built in the mind 20ies. In 2007, a new was built on the same spot.  
The red thread/string of fate… is basically where my title came from^^  
Hungary sees fairies, because in one strip, France is shown seeing them, too (which is a proof you don't have to be born that way to be able to see them), though not believing they are real, so they vanish for him, I guess. Hungary is a different case, I guess.


	7. Chapter 7

Phew. The spring semester on my university begins on the 1st of February, so, from then on, I won't be able to update as quickly as I did so far. In turn, it might be likely that with the time I spend on the making of them, they might improve… though I'm not sure.  
Anyways, a really huge thanks for everyone who stuck with me so far! Permanent readers are an author's vodka… I mean, fuel xd  
Oh, and one last thing: I think you all know what Hungary and Japan talk about ^.~ (Yaoi, of course xd)  
_Disclaimer: _I still don't own them, although I'm tempted to ask for them to be my Easter present xd

_**7- Paris, the Meeting**_

It was the end of November, which gave Hungary- and most of the other nations as well- a more than good reason to dress up warm. That didn't mean a chill didn't run down her spine every single time she thought of France, although she knew as much that whatever revenge he had on mind it didn't include large audience. Feliciano told her of his failure in preventing (or even finding out) the plan about 5 days ago, sounding quite depressed in the e-mail. Ludwig sent news that Prussia was quite calm and kept away from France, so he certainly couldn't been in on the plotting, and according to Romano, Spain's case was the same. Not that the big ego of Francis would've ever allowed him to ask help. No, he probably wanted to show her not to take him so casually, and for that, he would only settle for his own handiwork- from the first bits till the very last nuances. What she didn't know, was when and how it'll happen (and a huge knot appeared in her stomach at the thought of being so helpless), but she be damned if she told him to get it over with at last. It would be like begging for mercy, and she was not famous for that. At least, she didn't used to be… Time taught her the importance of compromises, which she had to admit, even if she felt she was losing hold of her old self and giving up more and more parts of it; she acted more womanly now than she used to, held her tongue most of the time, and didn't swear that often (not when others heard her anyway). Sure, you could blame it all upon her growing up and becoming more serious in the process, but she felt it had more to it, as if she would've grown rusty.

She was nearly the last one arriving to the meeting room again, but this time, she didn't have to look for empty seats, for as it seemed, England saved her one- fortunately in a convenient distance from Francis, who shot her a malevolent smirk when she entered the room.  
The meeting began and proceeded without any major mishaps (well, not counting America's ideas, Italy's rant about pasta and Germany's futile attempt to keep Feliciano at bay). They talked about various things, but what gave her a lot to think about was the fact that ever since that small smirk, France had been behaving normal towards her, not once casting a side-glance or slipping a snide remark. One thing he certainly proved: he could be patient, and liked to test just how very the other one was.

She didn't let it show, but her nerves were on the verge of giving in by the time they were finished and she scribbled down the city, hour and date of the next meeting. The idle chat as the nations left the room mingled with the sounds of chairs being moved by those that weren't as quick or wanted to wait until there won't be such a crowd at the door. Hungary herself shook England's hand for goodbye (they decided that the details of their relationship wasn't the other's business, and that they act with as much similarity to their previous behavior as they could), then headed towards the exit. As she passed a column, however, a hand took her firmly by the wrist, and soon enough, her hand was forced behind her back and she herself pulled into the dark offset. She hardly even opened her mouth when she felt some wet fiber blocking her nose and mouth. Having more than enough experience, she knew it must be chloroform, yet she had no choice but to breathe through it, and tried her best to keep her calmness- her head felt heavy, the sweet odor filling hew nose and lungs, her legs giving in.

'_Hongrie… Réveille-toi…'  
_The soft male voice sounded distant, yet it at least gave her something to follow. Elizaveta slowly opened her eyes and blinked a few times to get the blurry images and blobs in front of her in focus.  
She was sitting on a chair in a quite spacious room, which, judging by the interior, could only be the… the sitting roomof Francis (a little bit of comfort- at least it wasn't the bedroom, which would've indicated rape…), with the owner leaning down to her so that their eyes were leveled. When she tried to move her arms, she noticed she was tied really tightly.  
'Oh, you're awake. Good. I guess you have an idea why you're here…'  
'Well, I have a really good idea as to why you kidnapped me, but consider yourself lucky that I'm not a human- you do understand that chloroform and the likes can cause cardiac failure, don't you?'  
'_Je suis désolé… _but as you pointed out, you couldn't have died this easily, and I know about this side-effect of chloroform, that's why I took it quickly away from your nose.'  
His voice was practically dripped in sarcasm at the first sentence, and it still held a haughty air when he finished.  
'So… You remember the last meeting, don't you?'  
'I do, but I thought you have better things to do than lingering here.' Francis grabbed her chin and held it firmly, forcing his captive to meet his gaze.  
'Your tongue won't help you now, so you'd better hold it if you don't want me to stuff something into your mouth.' His usually warm, blue eyes were now slightly narrowed and his lips pressed together into a thin line- a clear sign that he was much more serious than usually, so she only nodded, as much as she could in that situation, indicating she will listen to him. The blonde seemed to calm down- he let go of her and took a couple of steps away. 'You are right in a way, though: I do have more pressing issues, so I'll be quick. The punishment will be…' he glanced at her for a long time, but strangely enough, not with the stripping kind of look he so often gave to various people (regardless of gender), but rather with a common musing one. She only arched an eyebrow, not wanting to try if he was ready to stuff her mouth. 'Have you ever considered singing or stand-up comedy?' he asked, earning wide eyes from Hungary. He sighed.' 'I take that as a no, then. You have to begin everything sometime…'  
'You… you want me to make a performance?' she asked back. Her expression could be easily mistaken for "you've got to be kidding me", but that was only a part of it- she was somewhere relieved, having imagined way worse (and more perverted) ways of penalty, plus, it surprised her a lot. And she thought it wouldn't include audience… plus, she liked singing, but did it only when she was safe and all alone. All right, now she was getting nervous…  
France stepped to her again, untying the ropes and grabbing her wrist. 'Of course. Now, come on, or we'll be late.'

She took a large gulp, her stomach now in a tight knot. This was getting far less easy then she thought at first… Before she could ask any questions, though, he blindfolded her, they left the house and set off with the aquamarine Peugeot of Francis. She didn't know Paris well enough to try and memorize the turns they took not to mention that she didn't even know the name of the street Francis lived in.  
After fifteen minutes that seemed much longer, they parked, and he finally took the blindfold off, but pulling her with him too quickly for her to take a look around. The building looked too much like a theatre, but they were inside in no time, where he gave her a set of garments and pushed her into a changing room, telling her to hurry up.  
She changed into them, and couldn't help but notice that it looked like a nursemaid's outfit- what, she'll have to act? On a stage? She couldn't help but feel even more desperate to run away- but there was no turning back, not now… She went out after Francis began to knock on her door. He nodded- he himself had changed as well, into the costume of... was it Mercutio from his musical _Roméo et Juliette_? She had to admit, he didn't look bad in it at all, but…  
'Eh? You're coming as well? No… no way… it's…'  
'Oh yes, it's _Les beaux, les laids.' _He nodded with a smirk, but she didn't have time for reaction, because they both were ushered towards the stage- and suddenly, she found herself in the spotlight. She blinked a few times, and tried to overcome her nerves- at least she didn't see the audience…  
The music began to play and she counted in herself to four before singing. It was easier after the first word: the music seemed to engulf her, and she turned in the direction of France, smirking.

'_Hahaha, rient les gens autour/ Hahaha, ils rient d'un amour/Qu'ils ne comprennent pas, qui ne sentent pas/Alors c'est pour __ç__a… Qu'ils font./ Hahaha, riez, riez fort/ vous versez des larmes, qu'ils riront encore/ Dieu que c'est facile, pour les imbéciles/D'être aveugle et sourd à un grande amour/D'être aveugle et sourd__.' _Oh, it was all worth for the face he made! He clearly expected her to give in to stage-fright, or to have an awful voice- which she didn't, although it was true she looked (and sounded, most probably) far too young for the role of the nurse, not to mention that her pronunciation was surely lacking. It wasn't that hard to act as the song required: He had to snap out of his shock quickly: this was not the whole show, where it would be Benvolio's turn, so much was apparent from the nearly empty stage (not counting the two of them)- they made a duet out of it. His eyes narrowed and his expression changed to the mirror image of hers, as he approached her.  
'_Hahaha, mon Dieu, qu'elle est drôle/Avec ces cheveux là,elle a l'air d'un saule/Comment Roméo de nous le plus beau/Pourrait-il vraiment tenir ses serments,/ Comme nous tous il ment.__'_

And so it went on- they teased and mocked each other until the song was over and they left the stage with a bit of a blush after the singing. She heaved a great sigh and suddenly felt how weak her legs became. He noticed her instability and pulled two chairs over- they were sitting in a kind of lounge for actors just about to enter stage or just leaving it.  
'You did better than I expected.' He said at last, pouring two glasses of water for them.  
'You still had the chance to mock me without consequences.' she pointed out, since the song mostly consisted of him making fun of her. _At least he didn't pick a kissing song…_- she thought, taking a sip of her drink, adding. 'I must've been ridiculous, I'm way too young to be the nurse, and I'm more of a soprano than a mezzo.'  
'_Oui, c'es vrai._ But I'd return home quickly and I wouldn't want to read tomorrow's headlines if I were you.'  
'No way… we couldn't have been THAT good…' she finally reacted after closing her gaping mouth. He got up and beckoned her to follow him.  
'Your luggage is already in my car, so I'll drop you at the airport.'  
'How come you're so nice all of a sudden? I thought you were mad at me.'  
'I was, before the little show.'  
'But me doing so well kind of ruined you precious revenge, didn't it?'  
'Partly, but you already said you aren't fit for this role and that I got to make fun of you. Your voice is good, but with your looks and age, any director could certainly only imagine you as Juliet. '  
They were already at the car, and soon enough they headed off towards the airport. Apparently, France considered this case closed, but you couldn't be sure with him. Hungary didn't dare to start a conversation, but she had to admit she enjoyed herself on the stage- not that she'd say that out loud, of course. And what if he could help her with matchmaking? No, she had to be 1000% sure he didn't hold a single grudge anymore before asking- she'll have to wait. She wanted to try on her own first, anyway…

But… if what he said is true... Then, she'll have a really uncomfortable call from her bosses tomorrow… She didn't have luck with meetings at all, as it seemed.

**AN**

Finally, I finished it! I have a serious temptation to complain, but I brought this all upon myself, so… Oh, and I don't speak a word of French (I understand some words, but I couldn't put a sentence together to save my life) so, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. This will be the first and last time I ever used a language I don't speak -.-

The musical _Roméo et Juliette _is one of my favorites, and as you could see, I know the song _Les Beaux les Laids_ is actually not a duet, but I didn't know how to bring the others in, so… Let's pretend it was just a musical selection If you don't know the musical: this song is practically the scene where Benvolio and Mercutio make a laughing-stock out of Juliet nurse, who came to speak to Romeo.

About France: I feel I failed. He should be far more perverted, but… I didn't find it in me to make him cruel. I'm pretty sure he himself would've picked _Un amour hereux_ (which is about the ball), the only song with kissing, at least I understand so- correct me, if I'm wrong, I only heard the songs, never saw the whole show (only till halfway this mocking scene). I even had a scenario in my head with Iggy in the audience, but by the time this came to my mind, I already typed half of the first verse, so… plus, I didn't want to make Hun-chan to give in easily, and the point of the second option would've been the misunderstanding it would've caused- her resistance would've kind of ruined it.

Yes, chloroform can cause cardiac failure, that's why it's not used so much anymore. By the way, it was a French who discovered choroform, so France might know it quite well. In case you need a translation:  
Hungary, wake up.  
I'm sorry.  
Yes, that's true.


	8. Chapter 8

I'll try and make this one quick, although I have absolutely no idea as to what will happen. It might be a talk with America about Russia, or we might have a little Austria or Germany, or I don't know what. My fingers seem to type on their own accord… figuratively, of course.

_Disclaimer_: All quiet in the west. (Reward if you find out where that came from:D)

_**8**_

The telephone call from her bosses wasn't as bad as she thought it would be: they thought the fact they were singing together meant everything was fine, and all they told her was to avoid stages in the next thirty years or so (with the exception of being in the audience, of course). They didn't say a single thing about her singing- they probably didn't want to praise her when she endangered the secret of the nations, and Elizaveta could understand that. After all, having to tell every new boss there were such creatures as "nations" was hard enough sometimes. For example, the beginning of her and Franz Joseph's co-operation was rocky to say the least- they didn't meet until her revolution was crushed, nearly nine month after he was crowned as an emperor. She spent the next nearly two decades alone, refusing to talk to Roderich or his boss, let alone helping them. That, however, had a major disadvantage: since her nobility didn't join the army or take jobs in the offices, they didn't earn money, so they couldn't buy from the merchants, craftsmen or peasants, thus making her weaker every day. This couldn't go on for much longer, so much was apparent even for the very man who came up with this "passive resistance"-idea in the first place (Deák), so there was no way she could refuse the equally weakened Roderich's proposal.  
All in all, she could more than understand that all of the bosses were so keen on keeping the secret just at that. They couldn't even threat them with revealing it: it would've backfired, the boss taken to an asylum and a new one taking his/her place. No-one ever tried to uncover their countries; although she met a couple of persons she could imagine doing it.  
As she got home and checked her e-mails, she was surprised to find several ones about her little debut. _It looks like France's Mr. Newspaper was there and reported about it even on-line._ She thought, getting nervous. What should she do now? There were links about several articles, pictures and even a YouTube video in the mails! Prussia, of course, mocked her and made fun of her situation; Roderich was the aristocrat he always was; Ludwig made no comment; Feliciano, Feliks and even America praised her (Feli asked why she never did that before when she had a good voice like this and Feliks emphasized on the successful blocking of France's revenge); Japan gave her a cautious congratulations; Russia invited her over for a shot of vodka and singing in one of his bars. The only one who seemed to fully comprehend the situation was England- no wonder he did, considering he had his own troubles with keeping his band at bay.

_Hi, Elizaveta,_

_I heard it, and don't know what to say. First: he had that coming. Second: your voice is great. (But I guess you got enough from these two.) Three: I don't know how, but I want to help. It's clear that now you'll have to brush that leech Newspaper off of you somehow…but you already know that too, right? And it's easier said than done… Never mind. The point is, I'm worried, and I wouldn't be if it were another nation… I highly recommend closing in to the house for a couple of weeks, if you can arrange it with your bosses. Hopefully the problem will solve itself… Good luck with that! Let me know how it went!_

_England_

Well… it wasn't much of an idea, but she couldn't think of any more, so she quickly (though unwillingly, afraid of their reaction) sent a message to her prime minister and president of the republic about the situation. Soon enough, an answer came: they understood, and said they'd talk about it when she came out of her seclusion. Hooray, something to look forward to…  
She stood up some minutes later, after she shut the laptop down, and began to do random things- rearranging the little souvenirs and statuettes she had, watering the plants, dusting- anything to keep her hands occupied and her head blank. She didn't want to think, not now and certainly not about the seemingly fatal mistake she made because of France- it was starting to give her headaches, making her depressed and desperate.  
_Oh come on, get a grip on yourself… You've been in way worse situations…_ She scolded herself, but it didn't help at all. True, she had been through everything only they, nations have, but no-one ever faced the danger of exposing their true identity to the _whole frigging world!  
_That was it- she punched the first thing her hand met as hard as she could, suppressing a groan of pain and then shaking the hurt limb- it just happened to be her wardrobe, made of good tough wood, and now with a little crate. Great, she'll have to repair that as well...  
She was ready after about half an hour, then she ate something (her stomach began to growl), washed the dishes and realized she practically did every housework there is- as well as the fact that she was dead tired because of this, so she went up to her room and slept.

**A couple of weeks later**

She watched the media really closely. Newspapers, tv, radio, internet… everything; and found that there wasn't anything about the mysterious talents after four days. Elizaveta still found it best to stay inside for two weeks, just to be sure. She was bored all right, but it was worth it- besides, she kept in touch with most of the others, especially England.  
The success wasn't hers alone- she owed Francis big time, since without him keeping quiet as well it all would've been worse. Well… most probably, he simply realized he didn't want the media in his house. Her bosses did give her one hell of a lecture, but she could convince them they had more pressing issues easily.  
With that accomplished, only one thing was left on her to-do list: Bringing America and Russia together so that Russia will leave her .ALONE. She had to admit, he had his nice and calm moments, but those were rare, and him sending her an e-mail every day a bit… gave her the creeps, even if they did enjoy normal diplomatic and economic relations. She didn't know what to think of him inviting her to drinks, and hoped it didn't get where such a night with Francis or even Sadiq would certainly end up… but she saw it as a chance (even as a feeble one) at talking to him and beginning with ushering him towards someone who would be glad to have him. His first mail, of course, got an answer about her closing in for a while so that to maintain the secret, so he didn't mention it again until yesterday. She had a tough nut to crack here… but finally decided she will try and drink as few as possible (which wasn't easy with Russia, who liked people to join in for booze) and wrote him she would go in a week. He said he was glad and he would wait for her.

**AN**

I know, it was kind of fillerish, but she did get to accomplish something in the end... What I don't know is what to do with her in Moscow.

_1848-49, Hungary_: as some of you might know, there was a revolution against the Habsburgs that begun on the 15th of March, and which ended in a war. Basically, what we wanted was the rehabilitation of political prisoners, a bank, freedom for the press, annual diets in Budapest (instead of Pozsony/Bratislava), a ministry responsible for the parliament, a national army, taxes applying to noblesmen as well (a thing unheard of before, and noblesmen demanded it, since middle-class didn't really exist), equality in ecclesiastical and other ways, for the soldiers to take an oath upon the constitution then to stay in their respective countries (i.e. for Croats to stay in Croatia, for Austrians to stay in Austria, and for Hungarians to stay in Hungary, since soldiers were taken to foreign parts of the empire so that they didn't support possible revolts) and a union with Transylvania. Right until the next May, we were well off and successful despite the misunderstandings between the soldiers and the civilian members of the ruling committee. In December, however, the old Habsburg emperor died and a new one came: Franz Joseph, who, seeing that his army was perhaps about to lose, asked the Russian tsar Mikhail I for help in May, who of course came because the Russian tsar, the Prussian king and the Austrian emperor had a long agreement that if one of them is endangered by revolution, the others shall help. On the 13th of August, we surrendered to the Russians (it was actually them who defeated us, plus we hoped they would tell Austria not to be too harsh on us). Executions (especially painful is the one on the 6th of October when 13 officers and the first Hungarian prime minister were killed- there's a rumor that's why we don't clink glasses with beer) and even stricter censoring in the literature and press began- the whole country was in passive resistance, which was as I described, and Franz Joseph was quite hated at the time. Austria, in the meanwhile, stayed neutral in the Crimean war (thus enraging Russia, who had Austria in his debt) and lost to Prussia (thus staying out of the birth of Germany)- so he had seen better days, so to speak. Thus it came to be that they married… Truth to be told, we weren't fond of the Austrian domination (and the imperial anthem was less than unliked), but the race between Vienna and Budapest did make us achieve great deeds- the city's current design was mostly based then, we have the second oldest underground (only London was faster), and so on, even if the differences between the countryside and the cities grew steadily. And even the emperor was sort of forgiven… by the time of WWI at least, when he was often referred to as "Ferencjóska" ("Frankie-Joe"). Still, it was a time of peace between two periods of war...


	9. Chapter 9

Now comes what we've never seen yet… All right, at least not at all often: Hungary, in Moscow, in December, with a bottle of vodka and Ivan! Oh hell… this does not look good… T.T Russia, forgive me! I have a feeling I'll fail at writing you epically…

_Disclaimer:_ This is getting boring, y'know… but no, I still don't own them.

_**9- Moscow**_

Hungary was shaking worse than Latvia did as they (she and Russia who came to pick her up and brought a big board with her name on it) exited the airport in Moscow, and she felt the wind and the freezing cold that was an ordinary winter in this city. She should've known better than to come here before April… She tried her hardest to swallow a few "well-chosen"Hungarian words about various things- words she would've uttered on the top of her lungs were she at home, but she had way bad memories with doing that within earshot of the tall Russian. Although her language had the great advantage of being rarely spoken (at least among the nations), you could never know just what others understand or find similar.

'Have you got any vodka on you?' She asked him (of course in Russian- she thought she'd fit in easier with her slight accent than with using English, plus it was an unwritten agreement and that they spoke in his language when they were among themselves) after a couple of seconds. He pulled a bottle from one of the pockets of his great coat, then handed it over to her. She mumbled thanks, opened it and took a swig, slightly enjoying the burning sensation in her throat and stomach then wiping her mouth and giving the drink back. She felt the alcohol heating her limbs, especially her legs- she had a good warm coat on, but the trousers and the gloves didn't seem to be enough at all.

'Only that much? You seemed like you were really cold.' he remarked, hiding the previous liquid again.  
'I am, but drunkenness might result in me falling asleep, and I hardly think you'd like having to run with me to your house or the hospital, so let's get somewhere warm quickly.'  
And so they set out to search for a place- a bar, a bistro, a fast-food restaurant- whichever came first and whichever they thought they'd prefer right then. After about ten minutes, the two ended up sitting in a bar, which (thanks to the fact it was about 10 o'clock) was nearly empty. They quickly hung their coats on the back of their seats.

'Something warm but alcohol-free for me, please…' She asked when they sat into two chairs and Russia asked her what she wanted. He arched an eyebrow, but didn't speak, preferring to turn around and give their orders. Soon enough, he returned with his favorite drink.  
'The bartender says he only has tea if you don't want to get warm from liquor, and you'll have to wait for a while.' The large nation said as he returned and took his seat. She nodded in acceptation, praying that the tea will arrive soon- so that she'll have something to look at, for of course looking him in the eye was hardly imaginable now. She felt nearly nostalgic at that thought: it wasn't always like that; she remembered how leisurely they could talk back in WWI. They were in the same boat, neither of them wanted to waste ammo or people by shooting at the other who kept on hiding in the rifle-pit. It nearly felt like they were equal, both cold, both feeling that the rule of their bosses wouldn't last for long, and both fed up with war. They were joking, or discussing serious things, and Russia mentioned a certain Marx and Lenin with growing enthusiasm, until one day in the October of 1917, she heard he went home but would come back. Two weeks later, he did return, but without the emperor's coat of arms on his ushanka, and with a different look on his face. They didn't meet for long, since soon he signed peace treaty with Germany and all of his allies. Russia said he had better things to do (specifically, a regime to build up) than fighting, so he accepted the terms, after which he suffered the greatest loss in the entente- and by the next time they met, they were on opposing sides in yet another world war- which was more cruel and terrible than any they've seen before. When it was over, she found herself in Russia's side of Europe, wondering if it was merely her blindness or he did go through a significant change since the beginning of the century.  
But of course, nothing can last forever- communism failed, and although what's happened cannot be changed, they had to develop a somewhat normal diplomatic relationship. The Russian Federation might be stripped of his status as a superpower, but he was still dominant- leaving him out of your calculations would be foolish to suicidal, perhaps unless you happened to be America.  
'Elizaveta… are you all right?' she heard, and felt the blood rush to her face. He noticed?!  
'S-sorry, I just… spaced out…' Hungary muttered. The knot in her stomach got only tighter- nervousness around him was nearly a second nature to everyone in the late Warsaw Pact, regardless of him meaning to induce it or not.  
At long last, the bartender appeared with the tea. She took a sip and gave a sound of contentment.  
'That's better…' She smiled. Russia's expression mirrored hers, but weirdly, it didn't worsen her edginess- maybe she let her guard down because of the warmth, but she didn't find any reason to question this smile's genuineness. Still… what should they talk about?  
'What were you thinking about?' he asked, his face becoming more serious. She blinked with surprise, then looked at his face, and couldn't help but say the truth… at least a part of it.  
'The past. You know… when we realized fighting is useless during WWI.'  
Now, he did look kind of nostalgic- and that was something she found strange. She didn't see this face of his often, if at all. It was neither childishly happy, nor mysterious, nor scary or threatening. It was merely gentle.  
'Yes… we were chatting nicely back then, weren't we?' he muttered, his voice somehow akin to Hungary's when talking about one of the short periods of peace during her history. Elizaveta was surprised he mentioned it with such fondness.  
'I… I thought you forgot it… or that it seemed insignificant.' He looked suddenly up with curiosity. 'I mean… I wasn't an important opponent of yours, plus you had crucial changes going on shortly after.'  
'I didn't.' He merely said, head bent slightly down, bangs covering his eyes. She took a large gulp- oh no, did she anger him? 'Your reasons are true, though. You were always good at analyzing.' He added in a colorless tone, adding to her feeling that she did something she will very much regret. 'Do you want to test how in-shape you are?' Russia asked with a small smile, finally looking at her, though he concealed his motives.  
'What do you mean? Chess?' She frowned, earning a not from the larger nation.  
'Yes, a simple game of chess, although… We could put a bet on it, just for fun's sake.'  
Oh no, this didn't look well… there's no way to back out now, and he dictates the terms… She cannot afford loss, but that was easier said than done with Ivan Braginski… She played with him several times, and never yet managed to beat him (although he did admit she gave signs of progress); Estonia tried again and again as well, but failed all the same.  
'What bet?' She inquired, hoping her voice didn't tremble- which it did, judging by the way his lips twitched.  
'If I win… you'll hand Balaton over for 24 hours. If you win, I'll go and date anybody who comes to your mind.'  
For a moment, she stared at him blankly. He had to be really sure about winning- he would certainly never volunteer to risk having to date someone he doesn't know; it was the perfect chance to get him and America together! But… If she lost… And she never _won_ against him… Balaton was a part of her, just as Texas or Nantucket for America- or the hair curl of the Italies was.  
'Deal?' He asked, giving her his hand. She sighed, and with a determined look on her face, shook it.  
'Deal.'  
He went and asked the bartender if he had a chess set, then borrowed it, brought it over and set it up.  
'Which color do you want to play with?'  
'White.'

And so the game began. Step after step, each thought over at least ten times; the board became slowly but gradually emptier as they mercilessly eliminated anything that got into their way, be it pawn or queen. She tried not to show it, but the hard concentration this game required took away loads of her strength; Elizaveta knew she wouldn't last much longer before crumbling, and even one mistake is enough for him to win. She'll have to end this, and soon…  
But how? His moves were flawless, all of them, and he didn't seem to be tired; his face was unreadable, apparently taking this seriously.  
She had only one chance- if her bishop… and then the castle… then she might give him chess, if not checkmate. But if he sees through it, she can kiss her castle goodbye… No matter what, she had to make that move. Now or never… So she lifted the little bishop and put it down again on its intended place.  
And that was when the miracle happened- he didn't notice it, and the small success gave her enough strength to go on. Five minutes later…  
'Checkmate.' She claimed, beaming. The pieces were hastily collected and returned to the bartender, along with the board.  
'You surprised me.' He admitted. 'But I'll stick to my word: who is going to be my… date?' He said, the chance visibly unnerving him. She whispered it into his ears, then left before he could change his mind and avenge his defeat.

**AN  
**Yet another chapter finished :D  
So, about first world war… despite the severe cold, the Eastern or Russian frontline didn't become as infamous as in the second world war, in Hungary at least. Around 16-17, it was very common for Hungarian and Russian soldiers to befriend each other- yes, you heard it right. The reason is, I imagine, what I wrote: cold, supply shortage, etc. brought them together. That was how the Socialist ideals found their way to Hungary.  
At Brest-Litovsk, Russia signed a peace treaty (with the central powers) which meant they gave up a great area to Germany. Why, you could ask, when they were winning? Because they had to organize and strengthen the soviet regime. The centrals (and the rest of the entente, for that matter) didn't recognize the new state; I read the person who represented Austria-Hungary even toltd it to one of the Russians (adding that they never will), to which the Russian smiled and said: "I sincerely hope we'll be able to make a revolution in your country." Sounds like Ivan, doesn't he?  
An another thing, while we're talking about WWI: Italy did put up a fight; for us Hungarians at least, the Italian (or South) was more infamous than General Winter's one.  
I made Russia say Hungary is good at analyzing because in the second edition of _We, Europeans_, it writes Hungarians are good at it and seeing loopholes (oh yes, that's true); even adding that the Hungarian language might have something to do with it. Well, it's true it has a complicated, agglutinating structure with a ton of suffixes (it means, it adds suffix after suffix if it needs to, instead of changing the basis form /German, English, French, etc/ or the emphasis and tone /Chinese is like that, I understand/ to express different grammatical relations. For example, the three tenses and modes of the verbs have their suffixes, as does the object in the sentence, etc.), but the history gives enough basis for that, too…  
Russia was more difficult to write than I imagined, at parts at least... I hope I did him all right. -.-" Plus I only just realized I didn't include the Feliks bit... Sorry, Yana... :( But he will come! Next chapter I imagine... :)

And as for chess- I imagine Russia's quite the expert at it (loads of the best players are/were Russian), and with Estonia's brain, he's bound to keep trying to defeat Ivan.

Ps: What do you think, what would've happened if she had to hand Balaton over? I saw a mini-comic on dA where she turned into a male once she took it off XD


	10. Chapter 10

I have an important thing to announce: my timetable is a complete mess, and the professors on the university decided to have great expectations from us, now that the "basic exam" is at hand (at the end of the semester). What this is? It has three parts: a grammar test, a written and an oral part. It's kind of like Corpus Juris Civilis on the Faculty of Law, a.k.a. Roman Laws (at least in Hungary, that's the first great challenge); if you make it, you're nearly sure to be able to get a diploma/degree, although rumor has it that it isn't such a big deal. Plus, my wireless here in Pécs is stubbornly trying to keep my stress-level high; since I have a new laptop, it has gone crazy and gives me one hell of a hard time. All in all, I might have a HUGE gap between uploading chapters.

_Disclaimer_: As usually.

_**10**_

As it seemed, her plan involving America and Russia went well; on the next meeting, she could hardly suppress a smirk or grin of triumph as she caught the side-glances the two shot each other. They weren't exactly as they were- neither the killing-mocking glares she heard of from the Cold War (well, supposing either of them stayed long enough in the same room with the other for those- as she heard, in the beginning, if one of them arrived, the other one left), nor the passive looks that concealed the question: How are we to step over half a century of nearly blowing each other and the whole world?, and, in America's case, held a certain hope that they might get around it somehow, sometime.  
No, the two of them were blushing, even if slightly, and both of them blamed it upon their clothes- Alfred on his bomber jacket, and Ivan on the layers of clothes he wore under the coat (for of course he didn't wear the coat in the over-heated room). She, England, France, Gilbert, and by the looks of him, Japan, however, more than knew what was going on here, and Elizaveta only hoped that the bet-thing won't ruin it all, once the optimist blonde finds out.

It was thus understandable that the rest of the nations quickly (and hopefully without drawing much attention to themselves) left the pair of them alone, so that they could finally talk about it. France nearly closed the door with the key, but Hungary gave him a nice big hit with one of her frying pans, so he abandoned the idea.  
Once out of the building, she felt a hand on her shoulders. It took her by surprise, but she had a wide grin on as she saw it was Feliks. They didn't have a proper, face-to-face talk since a while, although they frequently exchanged e-mails and called each other.  
'Hi!'  
'Hi. What was that little smirk about? Do you have anything to do with Russia seemingly getting America's signs?' he asked in a hushed voice (so no one else could hear it), with a mischievous glint in his green eyes.  
'Oh, that's quite a story… we'd better sit down for it.'  
She would've denied it, were it anyone but Feliks (and Arthur), plus him asking this quietly meant he already suspected it was a secret and he won't pass it on. They walked to a park, choose a bench and made themselves comfortable. Quite a few people spent their time here, so she made sure to keep her voice down.  
'So… you know the looks Russia sometimes gave me, right?' Poland nodded, with an irritated face- of course he did, and didn't like them more than he liked the ones his large-grown relative shot to Toris. 'That's one side of the story. Another one is… remember the London summit? I arrived the afternoon before…'  
And she told the part of the story her best friend didn't know, sometimes stopping and her face slowly beginning to put a tomato to shame. She had to admit, she left some gaps; not because she didn't trust her friend, but because she didn't quite always feel she would find the proper words. Although it happened nearly a month ago, it was kept well hidden, like an exceptionally precious secret between her and Arthur. There were moments, though, when she felt as already Shakespeare wrote it, torn between guarding the treasure and letting everyone know of and share her happiness.  
'So, we knew we had to do something about Russia, and, since America was already in love with him, I thought, why not be their matchmaker? When he heard of Francis's revenge, he invited me over to Moscow…'  
'Tell me you didn't accept it…' he moaned. 'That guy is totally unpredictable, we all know it!'  
'What could I do? I didn't agree to it right then, though- I waited for about two weeks.'  
'Wha… That's December! You went to Moscow in the middle of winter?!'  
'I realized my fatal error as soon as we were out of the airport… But we sat in a bar, I had tea and he had… the usual. Then he suddenly asked if I wanted to play chess, adding that we could bet on it, just for suspense.'  
'Oh no, that doesn't look good… But there was no denying then, was there?'  
'Exactly. So, he says: "If I win, I have Balaton for 24 hours…"'  
'WHAT?!'  
She hushed him, as people were turning towards their direction.  
'I know it's outrageous, but he was overly certain he would win.'  
'He did always beat you in chess…'  
'He was foolish enough at the bet- if I won, he said he'd go and date anyone who comes into my mind!' she grinned, trying hard to suppress her laugh. Feliks's shoulders were shaking as well.  
'Now I understand! So you won!' he said, wiping off the tears that were induced by the force he restrained his own fit of laughter with, after finally calming down. Then his face grew solemn: 'Let's just hope that America won't find out.'  
'He will… one day or other. Secrets like that tend to be hard to keep.' she sighed. 'What I hope is that they won't break up because of it- if they do, I'll have to look for a really secure hideout from Russia…' Elizaveta even managed a little laugh, although it was shaky and of the kind that said: "I don't know if I should laugh at the absurdity of it or cry…"  
'If he dares to cross any of his borders, I'll totally use it to my advantage and his capital will be WARSAW!'  
A normal giggle showed that he succeeded in lightening her mood.  
'That's what I like in you- you always cheer me up.'  
'I could say the same… but that's what friends are for, right?'  
She nodded. It was true that they mutually gave each other hope or help and consoled one another when needed, and it indeed did come naturally: nothing changed when they found out she was a girl, unlike with the other ones she knew at that time, like Gilbert or Roderich.

They chatted along for a while more then headed towards their respective hotels to grab their luggage and catch a plane towards home. Feliks prayed for things to go well for Hungary, while she asked for… she didn't know what. There were loads of things she wanted, like her bosses to leave her alone (ever since her "accident" in Paris, they always kept an eye on her, and she was fairly certain that she received a 3-hours-long rant when they first met in person. Of course she couldn't be sure- she didn't dare to check her wristwatch or cell phone), and for a chance of meeting England privately (as if she would have the free time for that…), and last but not least, for Russia to stay with America as long… and as far away from her as he can.

**AN**

Well! I managed to include Poland! As you might see, I didn't use his Valley Girl accent too often, because it seemed unspeakably out of place here… And neither did I use Russia's verbal ticks when he spoke. I don't have anything against them when I read them… but as I write, they seem to break the coherence, or the fluidity of the text. I write as it comes, you know, and these verbal ticks are just… absent from it. I hope you don't mind much… :S But I did put in the Warsaw-sentence, so that he could cheer her up :D  
Oh yes, as I wrote her feelings, I just couldn't resist Shakespeare… it's the 75th Sonnet; "So are you to my thoughts as food to life…" that's how it begins in original. It might sound cliché, but… it fitted this situation.  
About chibi-Roderich: he himself admitted he was beaten by Hun-chan (52 times, but who counts…XD), so they did know each other already then. Weirdly, mostly only Gilbert is mentioned as someone she's known since her childhood, or Poland.  
And the last sentence… if you don't know the film/musical "Fiddler on the roof", there's a scene where the Jews living in the Russian Empire (today, it would belong to Ukraine, I guess; they hint it's not too far from Kiev) ask the Rabbi if there is a proper blessing for the tsar. In the English version, he says: "Oh, Lord, keep the Tsar… far away from us!" The Hungarian sentence translates to: "Keep, Oh, God, the keep Tsar, the longer… and the further the better!" ("Tartsd meg, Isten, a cárt, minél tovább… és minél távolabb!")


	11. Chapter 11

So… I'll try and make this all right. Let me warn you, though- I'm totally inexperienced in writing that kind of stuff. Platonic love, crush- all right. Requited? I don't have a clue. So, bear with me, ok? And I'd like to thank Yana for the idea; if it were me, I think I would've prolonged this longer.  
_Disclaimer_: Waiter! The usual, please!

_**11- Budapest- January-February **_

She was more than glad to finally having a little time for herself- her bosses were busy with the crisis and various things they did without her help for a change. So, she wrote to England who said he'd come over for a change (she couldn't always go to London), having a bit of time as well.  
Hungary waited for him at the airport, and finally, he indeed appeared with his luggage. They hugged; relishing the rare chance of the meeting their lifestyle as nations provided, then went outside and got in Hungary's car.  
'Should we drop your luggage at my place right now or…'  
'Now is fine.' he answered, a trifle too quickly, as if he was uncomfortable or slightly embarrassed. Elizaveta turned the ignition key, and off they went. Fortunately, the road was more or less clear, and they didn't meet the usual traffic jam- they reached their destination quickly. It only occurred to her now, that just as she had seen his house after the concert for the first time, she had never invited anyone to hers except England, and he has never been here before, either.  
'Well… it isn't too big, so don't expect much…' she murmured, getting the feeling that she shouldn't have convinced him to stay over at her house, but quickly pushing it away: it wasn't a professional, but a private visit, and making private guests go to a hotel was certainly unforgivable for a host.  
He shook his head, with a bit of a blush (or was it only because of the winter?), saying: 'N-no, it's all right…' She shot her a grateful smile then they went in to the warm and comfy house. England stayed in the small hall, looking around in interest, while Hungary took his luggage to an empty bedroom. When she returned, she found him already in the sitting room, scanning a bookshelf.  
'Found anything interesting?' she asked with a smile.  
'Well, I guess… I came across some familiar names, but the titles are of course in Hungarian.' he turned towards her, as the hostess joined him, turning toward the books as well with a scrutinizing look on her face.  
'Well… we have… Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Gulliver, some Shakespeare, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Crime and Punishment, The Master and Margarita, Lord of the Rings, Tino's Kalevala, the standard Harry Potter, and of course quite a lot from my Literature. You pick.'  
'What do you mean, I pick? I couldn't read them if I…'  
'I'll translate.' He looked surprised but before he could answer, both of their stomachs began to grumble. She chuckled at that.  
'But only after we've eaten. You can call yourself lucky I have a meal done in the fridge, I only have to warm it up.' Elizaveta beckoned him to follow her into the kitchen, then to sit down at the table, while she set the table and put some pots with cold dishes in them for him to chose.  
'That one is stew, that is fish soup, this is the noodles (in case you pick the stew, but I can always put jam, walnut or scrambled eggs on it), and some potatoes… you can have them with or without stew.'  
'Potatoes? But… Those are neither mashed, nor cooked in whole, nor as chips…' He blinked, perplexed.  
'Oh, here we usually put some paprika and sour cream mixed with flour into it. It kind of has a sauce like this, you see.' she explained.  
'Some potatoes, then, please, with only a bit of stew.'  
'Why? Are you afraid of it?' she teased, filling his plate.  
'Actually, I'm kind of cautious. By the color of it, you must've put loads of your pepper into it.'  
'Oh, come on, it's not like Mexico's chili…' she tried to persuade him.  
'It sure looks like the same reddish-brown for me…'  
'Fine, I won't force it then.' she sat back, picking the noodles and packing it with a good helping of stew. She put both plates into the microwave oven, and went to cut a slice of bread.  
'That's for you, it goes with the potato.' She felt the need to clear this, seeing his surprised face. A couple of minutes later they began to eat.  
'How do you like it?' She asked between a gulp and another mouthful of the noodles.  
'Well… the sour cream and the potatoes are good, and the stew isn't too spicy to be bearable, either.' he said, although she admitted that he ate the bread at quite a speed… 'You're a good cook…'  
Arthur added, his face slightly resembling her favorite spice. She smiled.  
'Thanks…'  
The rest of the meal had passed silently. They went back to the sitting room and after that, she asked him if he fancied a drink- only one.  
'What do you have?'  
'Er… beer (mostly Ludwig's kind of Lager), wine, brandy, vodka, and some of my pálinka.' she reported, checking the fridge.  
'Brandy and a shot of pálinka, then.'  
'No. Those are better not to be mixed, believe me. You have to settle for one.'  
'Brandy.'  
'All right.' She poured one for herself as well, and clinked her glass to his.  
'Cheers.' They said simultaneously, before taking a sip.  
The brandy felt good, the burning of her throat vanished quickly, as she expected. She had dealt with stronger and more alcohol, and could handle it well- not good enough to compete with Russia (oh, not even halfway there), Ludwig, Gilbert or Denmark, but still.

She was feeling slightly more light-headed, though, as she emptied her glass, and by the heat in her face, was already blushing, although it wasn't much of a problem, for so was England. She excused herself before any of them would resort to get rid of the rest of the alcohol, and searched for some biscuits to serve; she didn't want to get drunk (or even tipsy, for that matter), and food always helped that, but she just didn't find any. She forgot the most crucial point… maybe some music would do the trick.  
Elizaveta thus went back to the living-room, and asked her guest if he wanted some music.  
'W-well… I never heard your voice in live-performance… so… if you have a karaoke CD or something…'  
Now that was tricky… the instrumentals she had were mostly of musicals…  
'Well… I only have instrumentals from musicals, if that's fine with you…' she admitted.  
'It's okay for me, you can pick one that you don't have the instrumental version of, if you want to.'  
Elizaveta nodded in accepting, then choose a CD and put it into the recorder, picking a song. After a short intro, she began to sing.  
'_I'm tugging at my hair/I'm pulling at my clothes/I'm trying to keep my cool/I know it shows.'  
_'_I'm staring at my shoes/my cheeks are turning red/I'm searching for the words/Inside my head.' _Now that was unexpected… England spontaneously stood up, and joined in. They sang the chorus together: '_Cos' I'm feeling nervous/trying to be so perfect/Cos I know you're worth it, worth it, yeah…/If I could say what I want to say/I'd say I want to blow you away/Be with you every night…/Am I squeezing you too tight?/If I could say what I want to see/I want to see you go down on one knee/Marry me today/Yes, I'm wishing my life away…/With these things I'll never say.'  
_

After the song was over, they sat down on the couch, and Hungary didn't know why she felt so insecure and why the world seemed to be spinning, although very-very slowly. Was it because of the one single glass of brandy, the mild exhaustion, or the song- if not the mere fact that he decided to join in and they actually sang together, thus making her secret dream (ever since she heard him on the concert) come true? It didn't quite matter or at least it didn't seem to at all, as she leaned onto him. What she sang about was true- she had encountered and could handle friendship, alliance, enmity, wars, but actual love was different. Despite Sadiq having the looks and character he had, Gilbert in their teens getting all nervous around her, and her marriage to Austria, she considered herself to be really inexperienced at that field. She was too preoccupied with hating Turkey while he was at her place (and didn't have much time later, either), being annoyed with Gilbert (she hoped their friendship wouldn't suffer from her being a woman, but he kept trying to treat her differently), and taking care of her part of the empire while trying to stay away from Austria's rules and country. Well, she had to admit, they were really great artists, and so was Roderich himself, she loved the music, but he, being the nobleman he was, just couldn't stop treating her like a porcelain doll, something to be kept locked away for its own good. And she hated this just as much as Sissy did later.  
Arthur being uncertain as well surprised her, though. Somehow… she learned a lot from him, and finding out he lacked knowledge seemed weird, but in the… good kind of way. For her, it meant that they would have to help each other, and even though the fact they were in love with each other already kind of proved that, it made her think or feel as if they were equal. It was selfish, perhaps, thinking about that, but she couldn't help it. She had been an underling or simply an underdog for centuries, so of course she liked the change.

She felt one his arms moving, being wrapped around her, a bit hesitant at first, but as she didn't flinch, it grew more secure, involving her in a warm, soft half-embrace. It felt like a cozy family afternoon with a huge bowl of popcorn and a great stack of DVD's, the fire burning in the fireplace. The kind of time that seemed to last forever while you were living it, but was too precious and fragile to linger here for long, as you were forced to admit in yourself later- and if someone, they, nations knew all too well that everything is for them (people and nations equally) to see and not to keep, that all they experienced was a mere intermezzo in their almost constantly changing lives, rushing past them like a bus on the street.  
The last part of the realization didn't hit her, though: she was lost in that tranquil, lukewarm bubble of the atmosphere.  
'Ela…'  
His voice was a bit insecure, hesitating, as if he was pondering a great question and didn't know how to ask it, if he even should. She looked at him in surprise, a knot of anticipation appearing in her stomach. W-wait, what did he call her?  
'How did you come up with the name?' she asked, frowning slightly, though her face told of more curiosity than annoyance. His face got slightly redder, but he answered nonetheless.  
'Well… it kind of… came. And it proved to be especially stubborn after "Umbrella".'  
'Oh… I see.' She nearly slapped herself for saying something this lame, but what was there to say for that? 'I like it.' she added after all, earning a smile from him. Should she return to what he tried to begin, or is it better left unsaid and simply felt?  
'So… er… I have a question to ask…' he began again. A part of Elizaveta wanted him to just spill it out before the suspense became too big for her, but a part of her wanted it to remain a secret. She nodded nonetheless, indicating that she listened carefully.  
'You know… I was thinking… and… we both kind of have something to brush up on getting to know each other, don't we? I mean, there are nations who know us better…'  
'Well… we do, I think. You have your brothers, France, America, the whole Commonwealth…'  
'And you Poland, Prussia, Austria and the other neighbors, Turkey, Tino, even Russia…'  
'So… you're implying we should make a kind of "chat of introduction"?' she got to the point. She didn't make any comments about him including Russia, with whom she thought they didn't know each other better than she and Arthur did- she thought she saw a kind of grimace on his face when she mentioned his brothers. She could understand it, although she didn't have any relatives who were this close, since after the communist party took over in 1947, Ivan was often referred to as "big brother" by her bosses, making her an unwilling "sort-of-adoptive-sister". So when she read Orwell's book _1984_, she felt slightly unnerved by the fact that this term came up so often…  
'Er… yes, kind of. You can begin… unless you have another idea…'  
'I do. Heads or tails?' she asked, already holding a coin in her hand.  
'Heads.'

She threw it up, caught it, and took a look.  
'It's tails. I begin.'  
And that she did. For about half an hour, she talked about anything that came to her mind: her flowers, literature, music, some of her history (only some of that; he could always look up things of that nature if he wanted to), movies, sports… She admitted she loved water polo and nearly all the equestrian sports.  
'You remember the Melbourne Olympics, back in '56?'  
'The one you and Poland weren't there on in person, only the teams? Yeah, I do… I could never forget that water polo match with Russia…'  
'Let me guess, he sat right there, didn't he…?' She hissed between gritted teeth. She had to do her best and contain her anger, which was rising by the moment. She was in Budapest at the time of the match, half in house arrest, half recovering, but she followed it all in radio. If she wasn't that worn-out, she would've danced and jumped up and down, right until the last two minutes, when one of her players got a punch to make him bleed quite hard. Well, punches weren't uncommon in water polo, and especially this match was ferocious right from the beginning, with everything imaginable, but that was way over the top- the ball wasn't even close! No matter how nasty the game had been, it was unprecedented. The referee's called the match, and Ivan's team, so she heard (and she guessed Ivan himself as well) had to be ushered towards their locker rooms by the police.  
'Yes, he did… he didn't mind the mood of the audience much, though… at least so it seemed.'  
'Why should he have? He was the Soviet Union himself…' she growled. This match always made her angry somehow, even if she won 4-0. The Olympic teams began to prepare before anything began, and left while she was organizing, supporting her people, talked frequently with Imre Nagy, and listened to the radio. Looking back at it now, it was hopeless from the beginning: Ivan had troops within her country and more at home, but she just had to do something- she couldn't endure it any more.  
'Well, he was, but still… He should've given thought to it at least…'  
'It didn't matter… and neither does it now. Let's… leave this topic, all right?' She sighed. She really didn't want memories to get to her, and that time was hardly one she would like to live through again. Feeling the guilt and despair of each of the immigrants and those that stayed behind, the death and the torture of those the Russians caught… anything but that. It was because of this that she was willing to settle for being "the merriest barrack in the socialist camp" instead of neutrality, although before the revolution fell, she and her people declared she didn't consider the Warsaw Pact to have effects on her anymore, which (since she didn't have time to apply for NATO or UN membership) meant she was on nobody's side just like Yugoslavia, theoretically speaking, at least until the whole revolt was crushed.  
'Sorry…' she heard. Arthur did look like he really meant it, and Elizaveta couldn't help but smile.  
'No need to be. Your turn.'

Another about half an hour went by as he was speaking. It turned out he had always seen fairies (they were absent now because he asked them to stay at home and made extra sure they couldn't get into his luggage) and other magical creatures- in fact those were the first things he remembers, and that he did give some ideas to Rowling…  
'What? You really did?'  
'Of course I did! Where did you think the Statute of Secrecy and the underage magic-regulations came from? She asked me once about our bosses and I told her we sometimes have problems with filling them in. Not to mention unicorns and fairies. I gave her Norway's address and phone number so that she could get some info on trolls, though… and Scotland's, since she insisted that she talked to him, the school being in his part of the UK and all.' he added.  
'That reminds me… What about dragons?'  
'Dragons? Well… That was her job, mostly… I just told her about you lot and she invented them.'  
'So you told her about me and she thought of a Hungarian Horntail…'  
'N-no! I'm sure not! I mean, yeah, she might have, given that it's in the books… but… I don't think it was what I said…'  
'Why, what _did_ you say?' She asked, now more curious than hurt. He was caught by surprise; blinked a few times, and his face grew redder and redder, his eyes darting to various objects but never once looked at her.  
'I… I… said that you were beautiful and your face always showed your emotions, and were glad to learn but had your opinion, but I didn't knew you well enough, so I sent her to Austria…'  
She moaned.  
'Now I understand. He always thought I was too fiery and un-ladylike for my own good…'  
'D-did he, now…' he gulped.  
'Yes. It was a real relief, having my namesake Sissi around, at least I could talk to her. She hated the court, wanted to do and know more, you see… And I bet Franz Joseph and Roderich drank together as well, cursing us women.'  
He chuckled at that. 'Why, I can see them at a bar, lifting their glasses in sync…'  
She laughed as well- her imagination was just too vivid. The dark haired, bespectacled musician and the young, handsome emperor…  
And so the topic was changed to bosses and literates. He admitted he met a few of the latter group a couple of times, and waited if they realized who he was.  
'Will did, somehow. So did Keats and the Shelley couple, along with the Bronte sisters, but I didn't meet Byron, he was always on the move. Dickens… took his time; it was really crowded where we met. Tolkien knew it almost instantly, and I had to admit I nearly forgot Old English… Rowling found out after about an hour. And I don't have to add Wilde to the list of those who knew, do I?'  
'Wasn't he Irish?'  
'He was, but came to study at Oxford and lived for a while in London, so we met.'  
She met only few of them face to face, but went often to places where she knew they gathered around. Even those who she met closely didn't usually have a clue about her being their country or nation- whichever way you prefer.  
'Why didn't you tell them?'  
'I don't think they would've believed me, plus it's not an easy topic to talk about. You had your problems with bosses not getting it as well, didn't you?'  
'Oh yes I did. Cromwell was hard to convince, and William of Orange… plus generally every first monarch of a new dynasty, more or less. The rest grew up practically with me in the castle. A Prime Minister is a different case, though… Let's just say one of them actually wanted to throw me out of the window.'  
'So that bit is true?'  
'Sadly, it is. What about you?'  
'Well… While I was a kingdom, it was similar with you, though the first Habsburg didn't require any explanations… he knew Roderich well already before. After that came first a democracy, then a socialist regime, and a kingdom again…  
'W-wait, I thought you dethroned the Habsburgs and didn't elect another one…'  
'I didn't have one. I had a governor or regent, Horthy. A vice-admiral, you see, and he didn't have a single ship, let alone a fleet at that time.'  
'But you…'  
'I didn't have a sea by then, bingo. It was an insanely absurd time… Remember when he dethroned the Habsburg house and sent Carl I or IV in exile? '  
'Sure I do, it was on _HMS Glowworm_ he left…'  
'Horthy presented that bill to the country as the regent of the king, but the king didn't lay eyes upon it, let alone signing the paper… so if you want to be scrupulous, you could say it didn't ever take effect in theory.'  
She felt herself going numb, so she stood up and stretched herself. In the meanwhile, she happened to look out of the window, and was perplexed by the fact that so much time had passed- they ate at about noon and now it seemed to be about three o'clock.  
'It's this late already?' she exclaimed, causing him to look at his watch.  
'What am I supposed to say to that?' he asked.  
'Well certainly not "I'm getting late"' she chuckled. 'Want to watch something?'

**AN**

I know you must hate me for the cliffhanger, but I didn't want to delay it the end for too long. Plus I don't know what they should watch. An idea would be Monty Python's Holy Grail… They would have a great laugh, although I didn't see the film yet.

The song they sing is _Things I'll Never Say _by Avril Lavigne, from her first album (Let Go). 'I'm getting late' is supposed to hint to 'Alice in Wonderland'. Tino's _Kalevala _is an epos like Odyssey, but out of collected fragments, I understand, collected and published by Elias Lönnrot- Tolkien was a professor of Old English and came across Kalevala as well, and he loved it. The story of Kalevala revolves around a semi-god Väinämöinen, that's where Tino's family name comes from.

So, here's to the historical blabber…

_Melbourne Bloodbath/Blood in the water-match_: the semi-finals of the male water polo on the Melbourne Olympics were held on the 6th of December (my birthday O.O), when the Hungarian revolt was already crushed. The match is infamous for being extremely violent with kicks and punches and whatnot over and under the water (why, we wanted to punch back and they wanted to cast a final blow), yet the most shocking part was in the last minutes when a Russian punched a Hungarian over the eye, thus making the latter bleed, and yes, the police had to intervene because of the spectators, although their appearance seemed to be enough to calm the people down. Hungary in person wasn't there on the Olympics, first because she was fighting, and then because I imagine she had to recover, plus got house-arrest from Ivan. Poland stayed away out of solidarity- the Polish did support the revolution in various ways, mostly donating and sending blood and other first-aid supplies.

About the Red Army in Hungary: it was said that they were "temporarily stationed" here. From 1945 to 90. No comment. Oh, and that bit with "big brother": I don't know about the rest of Warsaw Pact, but in Hungary, the USSR _was_ sometimes referred to as such. Kind of… creepy, after reading _1984_… although they say Orwell took the idea from an advertisement for educational correspondence courses at a company "Bennett" during WWII or a recruit advertisement from WWI.

After the revolution, a mass immigration began; many didn't want to see the country under even tougher Soviet control or feared for their life (many were imprisoned and/or executed- there were 14-16 years old boys among the revolutionaries, and with some of them, the state simply waited until they were 18 and killed them…), although weirdly, the situation grew better with time; 9 years after the revolt and we were dubbed the "happiest/merriest barrack (in the Socialist camp)", with a better life-standard and a more western atmosphere than most of the Warsaw countries. It had a price, though: a rising national debt.

I couldn't resist putting Harry Potter in it… not with the most dangerous of dragons in our country! And yes, I think Roderich found Elizaveta a bit too un-girly and tried to make her otherwise, that's where it all went downhill.

_Kingdom without a king_: yes, it was the official form of government back then; the failure of the democracy in Hungary was too close and overshadowed by the short-lived "Soviet-Republic" or Tanácsköztársaság (it lasted for 133 days), so we returned to kingdom, but couldn't take a king, since the entente wouldn't have tolerated a Habsburg, so we chose the next best: a "temporary" regent. Nothing seems to last as long as "temporary" in Hungary… And yes, he was a vice-admiral, without a fleet, without a sea, and with territorial claims against countries we were later allied with… Kafka would be really glad; it's so absurd even he couldn't have written it better.

The Habsburgs were dethroned three times in Hungary: in 1707, in 1849, and in 1920 (for good). The last king and emperor, Charles (IV as Hungarian king, I as emperor) was sent to Madeira, on an English ship (_HMS Glowworm_).

So... read and review, please??? *tries puppy-eyes but kind of fails*


	12. Chapter 12

Ehhem, Ehhem. What they are going to watch, is still beyond me. I'll find something out… Preferably something to do with Iggy. Oh well, I'll find it out anyway… So, we join our characters where we left them. Kinda.

_Disclaimer: _No such luck.

_**12**_

How did it come to this? One minute she was asking if he fancied a movie, and he accepted. Elizaveta then began to scan her DVD collection to find something worthy, and stuck with _The English Patient, _thinking it would be familiar to both of them. She had been right, in a way: they both understood everything about it, their memories from WWII being still (or too) vivid. That meant they both enjoyed the movie thoroughly, along with another helping of brandy. As the plot unraveled (not that they didn't know it, mind you), she felt the urge of filling and re-filling her glass again more and more pressing as melancholy slowly wiped all other emotions away. Hungary knew she had to snap out of this if she didn't want to drink herself numb (which wasn't an option, not with Arthur in her house), something she didn't resort to do ever since WWII. It was the conclusion of her feeling wretched and depressed, desperate and helpless, at times even suicidal- feelings she as a country suppressed most of the time. Why did she do it? Because she didn't want to be taken advantage of while drunk, least of all back while Russia "popped up" once in a while to check on his satellite state.  
Yet here she sat, with him by her side and a full glass in hand. The third one, at least so she remembered, although she didn't pay much attention.  
'H-hey, careful there… you're going to feel awful in the morning…' he spoke suddenly in an awkward voice.  
'I don't care… And it's not as if I drank a liter of it, it's only three or four glasses.'

Oh, did she sound pathetic. Absorbed in self-pity and memories, she ran to booze and pretended it was all right. She loathed herself now. Why couldn't she just simply… forget, without drinking? Keeping record of everything and especially past failures was sure useful (for example, you could always learn from mistakes) but it felt at times like this as if all her wounds were raw and fresh, not healed properly. Or as if she thought too much.  
She definitely had to pick that movie, didn't she? The one she watched only once and realized it got too much to her. The one she sometimes forgot about, then found again when she was cleaning and hid at another place? She should know better, she didn't only have experience but kept them afresh. Why was it that she succumbed so easily, then?  
She began to hum a (Hungarian pop) song under her breath, a disappointed and bitter one about alcohol and how it kept on returning to her, who couldn't believe it… or him, for alcohol was personified here.  
Arthur stood up, took the glasses and the bottle away back to the kitchen then returned with a weird look on his face.

'Why did you do that?' she asked, not in an "I demand my booze back right now" tone, but rather in a serious and truly wondering one. She was glad to keep her mind occupied with that problem and his face- she didn't need to think of other issues like memories and self-pity and stuff like that.  
'I think we drank just enough. We didn't want to drink until we can't think, did we?'  
'It wasn't part of the plan.' she admitted, although a part of her did long for the burning in her throat and wanted to tell him her plans changed and she did intend to do just that- drown herself and her mind in the brown liquid.  
'Good. Let's keep it that way.' Arthur nodded and sat down. After a while, he broke the silence yet again.  
'You know… it costs more than what it's worth. I mean… a couple of hours in oblivion, then you feel much worse in the morning than you did before the first glass, with no memories of the night.'  
'You sure talk like you did it quite often.' she remarked, hopefully without an edge.  
'I did, yes. And that's why I only tried to stop you because I'm here in person- I know it wouldn't have worked over the phone.' He took a hand of hers in one of his, the two pair of green eyes locking; one clear and one slightly hazed over. Elizaveta lowered hers quickly in shame.  
'Sorry… I'm your hostess and I ruin it all… being the killjoy I am…'  
She didn't really understand herself, to be frank: she saw other movies about that time, but they didn't affect her this way. Maybe it was the connection, or the romantic bit? Or both? All in all: she wept about _Schindler's list_, but didn't get depressed. Same goes for _Pearl Harbor_, or other ones. This was the only one that always managed to make her feel hopeless, weak, tired… emotions she felt sometimes anyway, but that movie seemed to amplify them, make them unbearable without drink…  
… or without someone there.

A warm hand gently held her chin and moved it upwards, so that her and Arthur's eyes were leveled.  
'No you don't and aren't.' He said softly, giving her a strong look that said "Don't even think about these things".  
'No, I really…' She wanted to protest, to tell him what a poor opinion she had about herself right now, but couldn't finish it. He didn't seem to want to hear that anymore and wished to console her at the same time, so he occupied her lips with his own. She was taken by surprise, but returned it all the same- the kiss tasted like the brandy they (well all right, it was mostly her this time) just drank and something other, something bittersweet like a good cup of tea with a shot of rum (and without milk, for that matter). All thoughts seemed to fall right out of her head, and she couldn't help but feel glad for that. Sometimes she really only wanted to stop thinking, to put her brain into standby mode, and just be- she gave herself royal headaches with over-thinking things as times.  
He broke the kiss, pulling back slightly, and now they looked at each other with cheeks graced by a bright blush.  
'Will you… listen to me now?' Arthur broke the silence at last, in a small but convincing voice. 'You can't keep it in forever.'

'I don't, exactly that's the problem here! I know I should just get a hold on myself and go on no matter what, and I try to, but sometimes, it's just unbearable and I don't see any difference despite all my efforts, and I just… stop and pity myself, even though I know it's useless.' her voice nearly completely died away because of shame by the time (and to cope it, she didn't remember when she stood up from the couch) she finished, and Elizaveta just couldn't bear to look him in the eye anymore. To her utter surprise, his reaction wasn't a sharp remark but an embrace- warm, soft, yet strong. As much as acting and being tough (and sometimes self-detest) had been nearly second nature to her, and as much as she preferred knowing she stood on her own feet, not relying on anyone, she found herself instinctively returning the hug and sobbing again, clinging to Arthur as if her life depended on it. After some moments, however, she began to realize what she had done, and she tried to pull back in shame, apologizing- only his arms, still wrapped around her thinner frame, didn't allow it.

'It's all right… no need to feel ashamed…'  
Gentle words, supporting, warm. She yearned to believe at east in the first part, that it really is normal, even for them or her, to feel this weak, helpless and glad for having someone to give her strength. Nations weren't supposed to show weakness, or emotions; they merely acted as they were told, puppets in their bosses' hand. A female nation had it even more difficult: they had to gain reputation against their bosses _and_ the fellow male nations, who were more prone to treat them in the old-fashioned guarding and gentle way then humans were. Why, they grew up in that kind of etiquette, and women got equal rights only in the 20. Century, of course they didn't adjust too quickly. This often angered her (she could do just fine without help, thank you very much- at least most of the time, and that was what she told herself), but now, not even a morsel of this feeling was found in her. Maybe because now it was _Arthur _and because she did need him, no matter how hard it seemed to admit that, having been used to the thought that she was to handle things alone (or with the help and support of only Feliks).  
She shouldn't have picked or even _kept_ this movie in the first place, but the damage was done, and now she couldn't help it. The most she could do was stopping it, putting the disk out and doing what she always did: hiding it somewhere where she won't find it for years.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to do that, and she figured it wouldn't be any good either. She would eventually find it and have most probably no-one around at the time, that's for one. For two, it would make Arthur even more curious as to why did she react that way (as if he'd let her go…), but that was a question she couldn't answer. There had to be more to it then the acting, the music, the scenery… for she saw many movies which were just as generously provided with those as _The English Patient_, and still they didn't hit a soft spot so hard. Sure, they were touching, but she be damned if what she was doing now could be described as merely "being touched" by the movie. No, this was something more, akin to the emotions that swirled inside of her when they talked about that water polo match: she was angry with herself for being so insecure and wanted to stop it, and at the same time she wished she could just… lie there, all alone with her pain- _licking her wounds_ as her inner cynic instantly added.  
She suppressed the urge to try and explain, as it would be too difficult and would ruin the moment. Instead, she slightly tightened her embrace burying her head (now with dry eyes) into his body, trying to show gratitude through movements. If she were a trifle better, this situation would've given her thoughts worthy of blushing upon, beginning with the realization of his body's warmth and scent, and the impact these might've had on her.

He must've understood the message: his head was lowered, so that she knew his nose was among the curls of her hair, and by the tiny change of pressure, she could've sworn she felt his lips curling into a hardly visible smile. It seemed so… right and yet confusing, this whole situation with them- as they already stated back when they realized what it exactly meant, it was absurd, nearly unbelievable. After all, it was a doing of countless coincidences: if she didn't go to London already the evening before the meeting, and didn't chose to go walking, she might never have fallen in love with him, and thus would have never found out how he felt. Or is that true? She saw the thread, and remembered what Japan told her about its meaning- according to that, they would've met, no matter what they did.  
The movie kept on playing, but what for, when they didn't pay attention, she didn't know. Not that she minded, though.

'Glad that you're better now…' Arthur remarked. Elizaveta didn't even notice when he lifted his head to look at her slightly smiling face, but she lifted her head from him to return his gaze better. Now her eyes were a bit clearer, but her head still felt a little dizzy. Did she drink too much? She was afraid she would stumble and fall if he let go of her.  
And yet his arms were loosening. 'You look like you'd need something to eat… I'll go get it.' he said. She was too taken by surprise to protest, but as he turned and stepped away, she tried to follow him…

And that's where the embarrassing thing happened: she stumbled in… she didn't even know what, fell with a yelp and effectively knocked him over as well. The two of them were now lying on the ground, facing, their lips just some millimeters from connecting, since he spun around when he heard her moving, and blushing so hard they didn't even thought it to be possible before. Her heart threatened to break out of her ribcage, and she felt Arthur's case was the same. She didn't dare to move, in fear of falling over again, or making the situation more… Embarrassing? Yes, that would be the word. What else should it be, with her tipsy clumsiness? And her thoughts rampaging freely and filling her head with the products of her imagination (which could do with a _lot_ of censoring, to put it mildly) didn't help either, not one bit. And by the way his eyes were a bit hazy as well, he had similar problems.

**AN**

And… this is where I end for now. I'll have to get inspiration sometime, and now I just can't seem to find it. I don't want to leave my readers waiting for long, either… so… that's what this has become.

About suicide… ever heard of Gloomy Sunday/Szomorú vasárnap? It's a song, written by a Hungarian musician Seress Rezső in 1933, really melancholic and all- it is said to cause a major suicide wave (so some broadcasters only played the instrumental version, which you can hear in _Schindler's List_ as well, by the way), although the general atmosphere of the time might have helped it. Plus, Hungary had the highest suicide rate in Europe until recently (sometime around 2002-4, I guess) Lithuania "took over", but according to an article (from 10th of December, 2009) that is based on a statistic survey by OECD, we are second worldwide and first in Europe- cookies if you can find out who the first one worldwide is. That aside: now it might be understandable why I made her angsty and... slightly OOC. And if not, think about that: history can always have more than enough grounds for angst and drama, regardless of country.  
Oh yes, _The English Patient_. It's a really great movie, and it's more than understandable that she feels depressed over it, IMO: the plot, the acting, the scenery… It's really worth watching. Plus, it's about a researcher of her, Almásy after all… It was him that came to the consequence (seeing the paintings of a cave the Bedouin knew of but mostly avoided) that there must have been some sort of major water surface in today's Sahara.  
That Hungarian pop song is supposed to be _Ó, Miszter Alkohol _by Koncz Zsuzsa. The rough translation of the first part: Oh Mr Alcohol, so here you are again, although I told you a hundred times that there's nothing between us. Don't you promise me to change- for your sorrow, pretty boy, I know you already well. Cos sometimes it's good with you, I cannot deny that, but you just keep and keep on flattering until I don't know what I do.

So… I hope you enjoyed it, although, now that I think of it… she DOES think too much for her own good… *fail*


	13. Chapter 13

*sighs* I'm kind of nervous as to what is going to happen… Bear with me, ok? *takes a deep breath* Here goes nothing…

_Disclaimer: _As always.

_**13 **_

If she wouldn't know any better, she would think the redness of her face and the heat her whole body emitted was the doing of the brandy. In a different situation she would even feel ready to give this explanation, but not now, lying on top of Arthur.  
No, no she… she'll have to stop thinking about it so much… But how, when she felt his racing heartbeat, his temperature, even his short breaths (thanks to their mouths being too close)? Plus a part of her mind kept on telling her off- it's not like they haven't even kissed yet or they were at the first date…  
No, technically, they _were_: they only found out about each other's feelings after the concert, and it's the first time they met privately ever since then.  
That didn't change the fact that she felt she would kiss him any minute, and they would end up in her bedroom shortly after… Oh no, she just _had_ to imagine it, hadn't she?! Her face now had the expression of someone nearly passing out in a hot bath.  
She opened her eyes (which she kept closed in shame) and the first thing she saw was a pair of green orbs, slightly hazed over.  
'S-Sorry…' She managed to mutter at long last, breaking the silence, and tried to back away and stand up. Hardly did she make one move, though, when she felt dizziness getting hold of her, which meant they are both better off if she stays. Unless she rolls off of him… But did she really want to leave?  
She mentally screamed at herself. Of course she did! It was practically the first date, and she was tipsy, and… and she was uncertain. Not about her feelings, mind you: her being tipsy made her being afraid of regretting or not remembering the followings (of whatever nature they may be) later, plus they were chatting along well, and if what she thought (and secretly hoped) would come, she was afraid that everything before would lose its importance.  
'N-no need to be…' came the equally quiet answer, the air tickling her face and partly getting into her mouth. That couple of millimeters that divided their lips were more and more annoying and tempting to be vanished. It would be so easy; she would hardly have to move her head… and Arthur might do the same, now she was thinking about it.

Suddenly, she felt his arms moving, more precisely, one embracing her, the other hand gently touching her face, as if asking for permission or not being able to hold back. That simple movement was enough to break the ice and wash all the thoughts of "common sense" away- they were kissing while he sat up, thus causing her to kneel, hands buried in each other's hair or caressing the other's face or fingers entangling. It somehow all came so naturally, that Elizaveta didn't even think of resisting or wondering when he began to fumble with her garments (instead, she tried to keep her slightly shaking hands still to unbutton his shirt). Not that she thought much, mind you: nothing mattered but their movements and the reactions they induced. As they shook when the other found a sensitive spot, or the way their overheated and soon sweating skin touched.  
They didn't remember how or why they got up from the floor and into one of the rooms, but they did. The coolness of the bedclothes met mixed reception: they were happy for it, for they felt unbearably hot, and at the same time, irritated by and indifferent to it. They didn't care about this slight inconvenience which was more tan easy to compensate in this situation.

Hour later, as she woke up with a slight headache, Elizaveta still felt Arthur's arms wrapped around her, not moving an inch since they fell asleep. It was already dark, but she didn't mind it much- it was comfortable where she was, apart from the migraine and the slight nausea which was caused by the drinks. She thought of searching for something against hangover, or simply something light to eat, something that would stay in her stomach, then changed her mind: getting out of the bed could wake him up. She moved her head a bit to face him, and although something inside told her she shouldn't stare (for the same reason why she shouldn't get up), she couldn't help but follow his sleeping features with her eyes. He looked much calmer, of course, the usual frown giving place to a relaxed expression, his lips only slightly parted. It made him look younger, more helpless, and more vulnerable. But of course, sleep does that to everyone. She could experience it when she went to check if little Italy had fallen asleep already, or if Greece slept well… on one occasion, she even saw Ivan taking a short nap in his office when he visited Budapest once, it was perhaps the most apparent at his case: he was positively transformed back to an innocent and sweet child, if you didn't consider the long arms and the coat.  
A soft groan and Arthur's eyes were opened before she could do anything.  
'Hello…' he murmured sleepily. So he has been awake enough to notice it was dark.  
'Hello to you too. Shall I bring something?' she asked in a low voice.  
'Yes… A glass of water and a sandwich would be welcome…' and he tried to move his arm. It didn't go easily, and not (only) because he didn't want to let her go: the limb had been still asleep, due to the long time it spent in the same position. When she was finally in the kitchen, buttering the bread and laying salami and cheese on it, did she begin to register what had happened. With that realization came next the question: how are they going to tell others, especially their bosses? Should they openly admit seeing each other at all? Not that she would want to discuss her love-life with any of them, but they would find it out, eventually. She sighed and put the meal for two upon a tray to take it back to the room. England had been waiting for her, sitting. They ate the sandwiches in silence.  
'What now? Should we still keep it in secret?' she asked as he lowered his empty glass.  
'W-well… we might tell it as well. It would be simpler, I guess, than trying to pretend… At least to the other nations.'  
'What about our bosses?'  
He hung his head, his ears blushing a little.  
'I don't think it's their business…' he muttered at long last.  
'Well, it isn't, but they'll find out anyway. And in that case, I think we'll be better off if we don't keep secrets.' The idyllic moment was gone, and, feeling guilty of that, she wanted to do something about it, to bring it back. Suddenly she had an idea. She quickly stood up and began to look for clothes and get dressed. Arthur blinked, confused.  
'Come on! We're going to a little night-walk.'  
He got dressed as well, and so they departed- a part of the trip was done by tram and bus, and the latter one on foot- the destination she had in mind, the Citadel, was a slightly tricky spot. In about an hour, they stood up there, under the statue of a woman holding a palm leaf, in the strangely moderate temperature (for a windless late-winter night, that is), leaning on the balustrade and enjoying the view which made this place a very popular sight. The city lights reflected in the Danube and surrounded them; far enough to be only thought of as billions of fireflies easily told from the stars, and even the sounds of cars and other means of traffic seemed to avoid the pair. For a while, they were standing there silently.  
'I've never been up here…' he muttered. 'I went to several sites in this city, but… not up here.' It was true to other nations as well: They saw some of each other's sights on the capitals (depending on the importance or influence of the host), but of course they couldn't cover everything. Elizaveta kept this place mostly for herself and came here alone; it seemed to bear only with solitude. This time was special.  
'It's even better by daylight…' she smiled, pointing forwards, signaling that she meant the view. 'And rest assured… that's the first time I came here at night.' she turned to him, then to the sky.  
They held a small contest of 'who knows more constellations and legends'. The constellation-part was won of course by Arthur (once being a pirate, he knew the stars as the back of his hand), but the bit with the legends was a tie.  
There came a wind, right into their face, ruffling their hair, and giving them shivers. 'I think we should head back…' she said, the cold bringing out her sleepy side. He nodded, and so they began to return to her home. They were quite tired by the time they got there, but cold as well, so as soon as they were inside, she made tea. They didn't talk much, somehow, although they felt they would have things to discuss. For example, how and to whom they should tell about their relationship. It's true, though, that this question can be considered as one to be solved individually. And it would ruin the moment. This was something they should bring up only the next morning. It belonged there. She would've proposed going on with the getting-to-know-chat that they had earlier, but she felt strangely tired all of a sudden, so they went to sleep.

She was already making scrambled eggs by the time he arrived in the kitchen the next morning. The breakfast had been consumed in silence, but after that, she felt like she had to say something. Anything. And she wondered, how can that be possible. They were supposed to be close to each other, so where and how did they (or one of them) make a mistake? Silence should not be like this, not between them.  
'Do… do you have anything you'd like to do while here? I mean… going somewhere, or… I don't know…'  
'Well… I didn't really think about it, to tell the truth… Maybe… you remember when I watched your bookshelf?'  
'Good idea! Let's go!'  
Soon enough, they stood in the living room, in front of the bookshelf, Elizaveta watching the frowning Arthur. After some minutes, he touched one of the many volumes, hesitantly, but taking it none the less, and turning towards her. He tried to maintain a casual face, but you could tell he was unnerved by the fact that he didn't understand the titles. She took the book, looking at it in surprise. There was no way he didn't recognize _that_ cover… Maybe that's why he was reddening?  
'_The Lord of the Rings_? Are you sure? I mean… I only have the translated version here, and you know what Feli says about translating and lying…'  
'Come on, I have faith in you and your people when it comes to translating. Especially after the musicals of Andrew…' he smiled, calming Elizaveta. They both sat down, she began to translate, although with some stops when she was looking for the perfect word, and slowly, the unfurling story about the Fellowship of the Ring enchanted them. Aragorn and his company arrived in Rohan, Meduseld, to find a weak Théoden, quickly healed by Gandalf, then planning to go to the safest stronghold of the country: Helm's Deep. Hungary closed the book here, thinking that this was enough from one book. Plus it occurred to her only now that she didn't know how long Arthur planned on staying- she cursed her own head off for that. What if he had an important meeting?  
'H-how many time do you have left?' She asked, saddened and ashamed. He looked at his wristwatch, then said it was four hours till departure. They got up, he quickly packed, and she saw her off at the airport. When they hugged each other, he whispered he was sorry for the short visits, but she felt he himself knew they couldn't do a single thing about it. Their routines and nearly their whole life were dictated by the policies of their bosses. She hated them and the fact that she was born a country for that. It would be so much easier if they could be mortals…  
That reminds her… She heard Arthur still practiced his magic. What if there was a solution, after all?

**AN**

So… I got over my first sorry attempt of slight lemon… And no, I didn't forget about Elizaveta's offer at translating, as you might see^^  
Yes, I love Lord of the Rings, and would be more than glad to read Silmarillion (only read LOTR and Hobbit) as well, but alas, I don't have much time. The bit I was talking about is somewhere at the beginning of "The Two Towers"(Chapter: "The King of the Golden Hall", if I remember right).  
There is an Italian saying which means "Translator, liar"- unfortunately, I don't remember how it went in Italian, so I chose to get around it like this. And about Andrew Lloyd Webber… he did say he found the Hungarian translations of his musicals great (and we take our pride in that, lol). Usually, we like to say that our translations of musicals, books, and Disney songs rock, and mostly (allow me to be a bit immodest) they are great, though this tendency seems to decline nowadays. "Respect for the exceptions", as we say.

Sooo… a little survey. Do you think I should allow Arth to turn themselves into mortals, or not? I have the beginning of a scenario in my head for the first case (I won't tell cos I'm an evil author xd), but for the last one… I'll see.  
PS: I forgot to give him a tattoo... let's just say it was there but she didn't pay attention xd


	14. Chapter 14

Now comes what we've never seen yet. We've seen them in AU fics as mortals, we've seen them as countries, but one thing is missing… I never before came across any fic that wrote them as being both, I mean with them transforming themselves into mortals. So, here goes nothing… Oh, and about the continuations… well, I'll include them, either in this fanfic or in a sequel, I'll see that. Give me your opinions; it will certainly help me to decide! Oh, and… this chapter will most probably contain Iggy's POV as well, but I'll mark it.

_Disclaimer_: No such luck. I only seem to own the idea and details of the transformation.

_**14**_

She thought about it, and even slept, thinking that with time, she might get some signs to support her. This whole idea of her was unheard of, unprecedented, defying every rules of their existence more or less known to them. Not to mention… what are they going to say? The bosses and the rest of the countries, that is. How was she to tell them? And how was _he_ to do it? Could she ask this of him? What if he didn't want it? Or if it wasn't even possible? She knew it couldn't be undone, once they were humans, and she couldn't even imagine what cost it had. She didn't want to think about it, to be frank, for if she did, she would swallow her thoughts and not even ask about it. Simply asking didn't mean anything, right? So, although she had loads to do, she took a plane to London the day after he returned there, taking just the most necessary things, and knocked on the heavy wooden door of Arthur Kirkland's residence. There was no way you asked such a thing on the telephone…

Soon enough, the host answered the door, and although he was visibly surprised by her arrival and the small amount of luggage she brought along, in a couple of minutes they sat by the kitchen table, with one cup of tea apiece. Elizaveta swallowed while he stood up and took the cups to the kitchen sink. A couple of fairies peeked in, hiding behind the doorframe, but they were ignored. How should she begin? Finally, she took a deep breath, and spoke.  
'You know… I've been thinking… about us, and our circumstances.'  
'Yes?' he asked cautiously. She could practically hear the unsaid _Did you come here just because of that?_ question, and gulped once again before going on. In the meanwhile, she felt her cheeks and ears turning a bright red.  
'And… I think we wouldn't have half as many problems if we were humans. So, what I want to ask is…'  
She was interrupted by an ungodly scream, a sound she only heard coming from Arthur Kirkland once in her life: on the first Olympic games of the New Age, held in Athens. She was so shocked by that, that she literally fell off of her chair, inducing an abrupt stop to this uproar. (And several yelps from the fae folk but they were still not paid attention to.)  
'Are you all right?' He asked, helping her up.  
'Yes… thanks… but do you know you nearly gave me a heart attack here?'  
'You are sure one to talk…' he growled under his breath as he sat back on his seat, then cleared his throat. 'So I take it you want to know… if I know of a way of transforming nations into humans.'  
'Y-yes.' She nodded with a knot in her stomach. 'But only if you agree as well.'  
He sighed, burying his head into both of his hands.  
'I… I don't know. There's too much at stake. For example, we don't have to be afraid of our bosses separating us. And that's all we ever knew, the only lifestyle we could imagine for ourselves. The only friends we have are here. Who knows what kind of jobs we would take as humans?'  
'These all would be at stake even if we remained the way we are. You know full well how very our relationships depend on our and everyone else's bosses. It's easily probable that one of these decades, somebody will be foolish enough to want to start WWIII, and we find ourselves on the opposite sites yet again… the way I know history.'  
'And find each other afterwards… the way I know ourselves.' he added in a hollow voice. 'I'm still afraid, though. We are most probably going to lose every one of our memories… if there is a way, that is.'  
That didn't even occur to her until now, but what he said made sense and dragged her back to the reality. There _were loads_ to risk, as it seemed… What was the point of setting themselves free of a nation's burdens so that they could be together if they didn't remember who to look for?  
'What if we write a note about what we find important to tell and put it into our pockets? Maybe along with a photo.'  
He seemed to consider it for a while. 'It might work… but it's still too dependent on chance. Way too much for comfort. You see… I haven't practiced my magic for a good while now… And even then, the most I did was summoning. I never did something this complicated.'  
She held his hand and looked him in the eye.  
'I have complete trust in you about that, just as you have in me when it comes to translating.'  
Arthur looked at her with an unbelieving look, as if asking what did he deserve this faith with, or what if she put her faith in the wrong man. He then shook his head, snapping back to reality.  
'Even with that… how are we going to tell them?'  
'I have no idea.' To tell the truth, she didn't even want to imagine the faces she'd get. She didn't care about her bosses much, but Feliks… and even Feliciano and Gilbert…  
He looked at her intently.  
'This isn't just a whim or a mood-swing, is it?'  
'No! I was thinking about it all day long yesterday, and all the way to here as well…' He sighed, but seemed to settle for that.  
'You know… I don't want you to regret it later. This…'  
'We can't undo it, I know. And I'm afraid as well.' It was true: the more they spoke about it, the more real it seemed, and the more terror and doubt ate away at her. Every single counter-argument he voiced was sane and she couldn't just brush them off.  
'You surely show it…' She couldn't decide if he was being sarcastic or not, but he probably was. 'Anyway… I think we better go and check if there is anything we could do before deciding and taking any more steps.' He said, standing up and beckoning her to follow him. On the first story, he stood for a while in front of a door that was painted in the same color as the walls (the only exception, and a more or less futile attempt at hiding it) before opening it.  
'Stay here for a while, I'll make some light. I didn't allow this room to be supplied with electricity, and there's only a small window, you know…' he explained, seeming a bit ashamed, taking a box of matches in the hand. After drawing the curtains of the indeed tiny window, the room became light enough for comfortable walking or sitting, but still a trifle too dark for reading due to the trees right beside the wall. So he lit some candles, and placed them on a small table before carrying an extra chair beside it and calling her in.

It was a rectangular room, with shelves for books and other things (possibly ingredients, she thought) on all the four walls, a single table, some pegs to hang the clothes upon (now there was a black coat on one of them), two chairs, and a pentagram engraved into the wooden floor. Somehow, this room radiated energy and the feeling that never before has anyone been invited in here. Arthur was already scanning the bookshelves, searching then he grabbed about five quite thick volumes and took them to the table.  
'Er… do you remember your Latin?' he asked, a bit uncomfortable. She hesitantly nodded. Reading was all right, she figured, but she wouldn't dare to make a conversation, not anymore.  
'Good. Look through the contents of these two, and I'll take these.' he bit his lip, concentrating, while he sorted the books into two piles. They opened the topmost books, and began to read.  
Half an hour later there was only one left- the others didn't help at all. She was sitting on her chair, getting bored, when Arthur suddenly leapt up.  
'I found it!'  
Her posture became tense. 'You… you did? What does it say?'  
He sat down, trying to calm himself so that he could translate from that mixture of Scottish and Latin in which the book was written.  
'Well, it describes the process, but doesn't go into the details of the effects. It only mentions what I thought, the loss of memory. We don't know what will happen to our countries, if we will be turned back to kids or maintain our physical age… nothing.'  
So there was a big blackness ahead, and they could only hope that after they leap into it, they get away with it easily. Truly bloody fantastic, as he would say, or with Gilbert's more crude words, fucking great. One more reason for her to feel guilty for bringing it all up.  
But… did she herself really want it? Did she think there was no other way? Wasn't she taking the easy way out by choosing to become a human? Sure, it all would be easier of they weren't countries, but if they really wanted to, they could make it, couldn't they? Or was she so afraid of this "long-distance relationship" and all its dangers? Did she have so little faith in herself and Arthur, or the outer world? No matter what it was that made her come here and search for this particular solution, the damage was done, they couldn't act as if such an important thing wasn't found out. It was as if they burnt the bridges behind themselves…  
'And… what do we have to do?' she asked, face white as a parchment, eyes strangely shining and wide, gulping. He looked at her for a long moment.  
'Is that your final word?'  
Elizaveta only nodded. He wet his lips and began to explain.  
'Well… it's relatively simple. All we need to do is pack some things I have here to certain spots around that circle, stand in the middle of it, then an incantation…'  
'And?'  
'No "and". It goes only as far as that.' he looked up, closing the book after marking the page. 'I'd say… we do it in about a week, unless we change our mind; so that we can talk to them properly, and say them… goodbye.' The last word left his mouth with visible difficulty. Was it really all right to ask this of him? She went and gave Arthur a big hug. She felt terrible, and not only because of the fact that it would be hard for herself, rather because she saw how very it all had taken its toll on him.  
So, they both wrote a list. On the one side, the names of those they wanted to tell in private, and those they felt fine with telling to at the end of the next meeting in five days. Arthur's list on the first side was visibly longer, that she could tell after a mere side-glance. Next, he packed, and he dropped her at the airport to catch a plane to Warsaw before arranging a meeting with the royal family plus the PM in two days and leaving towards first Cardiff, then to Edinburgh and Dublin.

When the plane arrived in her best friend's capital, there was a terrible knot in her stomach which she never ever felt here. She did get this sign of fear sometimes when being abroad, but in Germany  
(and that was more than fifty years ago), Austria, her other neighbors, or Russia. She had no reason to be wary of her oldest and dearest friend… until now, that is.  
Yes, she was nervous, afraid even: Afraid of his reaction, and of his absence from the rest of her life. Would he understand what even she herself found absurd at times? He sure won't receive it well, they were… inseparable, like two old oak trees, grown together by the roots, as a Pole so well stated. And now she wanted to leave him after all they've been through. It seemed terribly selfish and crazy of her; she even considered calling Arthur to tell him she changed her mind only so that she didn't have to tell her plan to Feliks.  
Yet she couldn't allow herself that weakness. If she couldn't cope with this, there was no way she could say the same into the faces of her bosses, Roderich, Gilbert and Ludwig, Slovakia, Romania, Croatia and Ukraine. Oh, and don't forget Serbia. She sighed, getting up from the park bench she sat down upon for crying, then headed towards the Łukasiewicz-house. Soon enough she knocked on it.  
'Eli!' Feliks shouted as he answered the door, embracing her in welcome and ushering her inside, towards the living room. She didn't deserve this, and it will be all too clear for him as well…  
'Feliks… sit down.' A serious tone, plus she didn't use the diminutive "Felek" she usually did. Maybe that was why he obeyed with only a silent question in his eyes.  
And so she began to phrase her decision, carefully avoiding his eyes but risking a couple of glances towards his face. This wasn't the usual way she spoke; she was open and looked people straight in the eye most of the time… But now, she was too ashamed to do so. Tears began to cloud her vision halfway through, and she was glad for them because she didn't have to see what she'd done.  
Silence. Terrible silence enveloped them for God knows how long. This has never happened before… they sat in silence sometimes, yes, but it has never been like this. It was as if their friendship was over. Which… probably it was. How could she hope being forgiven?  
'Feliks… don't. Cry, yell, call ma anything you like, but don't just sit there…' she muttered, wiping her face with her hand.  
Upon hearing that, he stood up so ferociously that if he would've sat on a simple chair, it would be already on the ground.  
'I never thought I'd live to see that… You did agree to shameful things before but you never were a _coward_.'  
She cringed. It hurt bad enough, feeling his eyes upon herself as she signed the marriage papers with Austria, and hearing a remark after the Peace Treaties of WWI ("What did you become?"), but Feliks… although he didn't always agree, he was never harsh. What he now said was in a way true, though.  
'As if I had a choice… You don't know what it is like, being constantly afraid of a turn of policies that separates you from you love. We were always on the same side, you and Toris and Katyusha and me.' she said at least.  
'Maybe I don't, but that still doesn't explain it! You yourself said you have no idea what awaits you after the transformation. Humans can be separated easily as well, there's no guarantee that…'  
'I know! I know it all, I thought it over more times than I can count! But… I still don't see any other way.'  
'Then Ivan and America should do the same as you two. Their situation is practically the same.'  
'No it isn't! They are stronger, and don't care much about their bosses.'  
'Cut that, Eli. I know you, you can be stubborn as hell if you want to. You don't even want to face your bosses with England!'  
'Yes, somewhere I don't, because first, my love life is private matter, and second, they wouldn't be happy!'  
'Would they be happy _now_?'  
'I don't know, but at least they wouldn't have to face a nation in love.'  
'Why? You say one thing with this word and the opposite with the next.'  
'Don't you understand?! We are not meant to fall in love with each other! None of us is! We are to abide by the bosses' rules, nothing more and nothing less.'  
'You sound just like Germany now. But tell me… what joy should we have, if we can't fall in love with each other, and neither with humans?'  
'I… I don't know. But I had enough. Even if I decided to cancel this thing now, I know these thoughts would never abandon me, so… I'd rather get rid of them before I crumble. Promise me one thing.'  
'What?'  
He seemed to calm down a bit- at least he wasn't furious anymore.  
'Whatever happens, whoever takes my seat in the meeting room… treat them the same. This doesn't have anything to do with them.'  
'I will.'  
'Thanks.' She stood up, wanting to hug him, but froze before taking a step. Did she have the right for that? She turned and was about to leave, when…  
'Hey.'  
She turned back. On the face of Feliks was a small smile, as he opened his arms. 'Didn't you forget something?'  
She ran there and held on to him as she did after her revolutions were crushed, crying into his clothes with an endless, muffled string of "Bocsáss meg". He simply caressed her back with the one and patted her head with the other hand.

Some hours later, after taking a plane to Budapest (she slept because of the emotional exhaustion though the journey) and talking to her bosses, she took her list and ticked three names on one side. She needed to stop for a while, to catch her breath, before she went on, so she spent the afternoon at home. The next day, she visited her neighbors. Slovakia and Romania didn't say a thing. Roderich was quiet as well, but in a different way: as if instead of not having anything to say, he didn't dare to speak or find the words- in the end, they shook hands. It was more than visible that he wanted to hug her one last time, but his nobleman's pride didn't allow him to. Ukraine didn't cry, only wished her the bests, and promised not to tell her "little Vanya" until the meeting. Ludwig took it stoically as well, but Gilbert… he seemed broken; she embraced both of them, jokingly making Ludwig swear that he hit his brother over the head for her at times. Sadiq made a face all too similar to Gilbert's, though Tino bore it well, as expected from the fragile-looking but tough Scandinavian.

Judging by what Arthur told her, he met various reactions, too. Sealand cried, America worried, France was heartbroken ("Who am I supposed to quarrel with now?"), and his brothers said that they would miss him for the first time of their long life. About the bosses… they had their questions (which none of the nations could answer), and were shocked by the fact that now it was _them_ who got a new "colleague", but there wasn't much they could do, was there?  
And so the day of the meeting came. All of the countries gathered together, some looking more serious, others not having a clue. The tension grew by the second, but they stuck to the schedule: only after Germany said "If there isn't anything else…" did Arthur stand up, Elizaveta following his example, and make the announcement.

Silence and disbelieving eyes. Even the (nearly) always smiling Russia, Feliciano, Korea and Spain were solemn now. Then, a cacophony worthy of Babel: everyone uttered their shock and talked about it to the next in their own tongues. China's Mandarin mixed with Japanese, Russian and Hong Kong's Cantonese; Rapid Italian, Spanish and Portuguese; Greek and Arabic, the Holland of Netherlands and Belgium added to the German of Luxemburg and Liechtenstein, plus Switzerland's mixture of French, German, Italian and Romansh, just to mention a few. At long last, Germany took a deep breath and shouted "SILENCE!!!" on the top of his lungs, recreating the order he so very liked.  
As they left, nearly everyone who didn't do it yet, took the time to say goodbye. Most were surprised, some even saddened (like China, Japan, Greece, Feliciano, Romano and Australia). It all reminded her way too much of a funeral, and she wanted to lighten the mood up, so that it could give her strength.  
'Come on, guys, cheer up… It's… it's not like we couldn't meet again!' She said.  
'You're right, Liza!' smiled Feliciano, although the trails of his teardrops were still visible on his face. America gave her a supporting pat on the back.  
'She's right, man, what's with the gloominess? It isn't sun…'  
A frying pan collided with the American's think head.  
'Thank you, but we do NOT require this kinds of jokes.' she commented, earning a giggle from Russia and Arthur. Even Ludwig was smirking!  
'That reminds me… you know what fratricide is?' Gilbert asked, grinning. When he didn't get the answer, he said: 'When the current boss kills a pig. And what's suicide?' Silence again. 'Why, when you tell this joke in public, of course!'  
Ludwig hid his face (half in shame, half covering the grin on his face).  
'Elisabeth, bitte…'  
Now that was new. Roderich was asking for permission to hit someone?  
'Be my guest, Roderich.'  
Gilbert staggered, clutching his nose after it being broken, swearing in German like a sailor. He couldn't avoid another punch in the jaw, though.  
'Und das war für Schlesien.' Roderich said, dusting his hands as if nothing had happened. Everyone stared at him wide-eyed. He blushed. 'What? I've wanted to avenge myself for a while…'  
'And I thought you got over it over your piano here…' Switzerland growled. Before they could begin to quarrel, however, Germany interrupted, asking if they didn't have anything better to do- which they all did, alas, so they finally left the room.  
'That went smoother than I thought…' Arthur remarked. She could only nod.

Two days after the meeting, she went to London… for the last time as the Republic of Hungary. He had already awaited her, of course, and before they began, they tried to drink some tea and eat something- not that they could swallow anything, mind you, and not because of Arthur's cooking being as it is.  
When they saw that it was all in vain and they better get it over with, they went up to the magic room, where everything was already on its place.  
'Did you write the note for yourself?' he asked.  
'Yes, I did… but I didn't include any photos. I wanted to take one right before we begin…' she added, lifting a camera sheepishly. Half a minute later the photo was safely tucked in their pockets as they stood into the middle of the circle. Sweat drops were running down at the side of his head as he clutched the small paper with the incantation and licked his lips.  
'Ready?'  
'As ready as I can be…'  
All the guilt, all the doubts, everything she pushed away seemed to return. She staggered but held on to his arm, keeping her balance. As long as they get their peace, it was all right, she reminded herself.  
'Last chance.' he said. She shook her head.  
'We've come too far for that… there's no way we could stop now.'  
He had to agree. Closing his eyes, he concentrated and began the spell. He previously explained it to her, how important it was that he didn't stop, so she suppressed her yelp as the circle began to glow, building a wall of light around them, and as the unleashed energy flowed through her, making her dizzy and tickle. Then, slowly, the energy seemed to cease, taking something with itself, leaving her weak, almost fainting. She closed her eyes, but felt herself lean towards the floor, so she opened it quickly. Arthur only have her an encouraging squeeze of the hand while continuing.  
Elizaveta struggled against faint, but the room began to spin around faster and faster, and his hands were sliding out of hers… She didn't see anything anymore, but the green wall of light, and soon after, it leaned to the left, and it all went black.

**AN**

Well, that turned out… weird. But I like it nonetheless, even if I would've liked to include more things about the goodbyes… never mind.  
So… about the hints…  
Yes, Gloomy Sunday again xd I just had to! That joke of Gilbert's… I had a class about the elections in Germany last semester, and we got a whole bunch of great jokes, this being one of them. No offence intended, I hope I managed to make that clear with the way I wrote it.  
That bit with Poland… The Austro-Hungarian Compromise was more or less a "we have no choice…' thing, on both ends. I remember I already mentioned that. And the Treaty of Trianon… well, I heard there was someone who, after the signing, looked at the Hungarian delegation and shook his head, saying something like "what has become of you". I don't remember any details.  
And the translations, just in case^^  
Bocsáss meg- forgive me (Hungarian)  
Elisabeth, bitte- Elisabeth, please.  
Und das war für Schlesien. –And that was for Silesia. (Both German, of course)  
A question… I still don't know if what happens afterwards should be in a sequel or in this story, although I think it will eventually be this one. I'm able to be persuaded, though^^


End file.
